


A Wing and A Half

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dragons, Gen, I know that's weird but I needed it for the plot okay, Just beware if that's an issue for you, Keith is fae, Lance is a trainee mage, M/M, Magic, Pidge and Keith are siblings, There isn't super intense graphic violence but there are mentions of blood and injuries, Watch any semblance of canon slowly draining away lmaooo, its not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Stop that.” The dragon puffed another cloud of smoke into his face and growled deep in its throat. “Saved its life and it won't even shut up,” it mumbled. Lance resented being called an it, especially by a dragon.Lance wakes up in magical cave with a startlingly grumpy companion who also happens to be a dragon.  All he can think about is what happened to the beautiful faery who healed him.





	1. The one where  Lance meets a dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly just deals with worldbuilding and establishing the characters and scenario. The next chapter is much more interesting (and better written tbh) so I apologise for making you read all this but I tried to make it as interesting as possible and include some character insight moments until we can dive into the real development™

Lance awoke to darkness. And slithering. As his brain slowly whirred to life, fitting stimuli together to try and figure out what was going on, he realised a couple of things. Firstly, he seemed to be in a dark room. And secondly, something huge was crawling towards him in the darkness. So naturally, he screamed.

He was cut off abruptly by a face-full of thick smoke that made him cough so loudly thought he was going to hack up a lung.

“ _Be quiet,_ ” the source of the slithering complained, sounding harassed. “Noisy human,” it added to itself. Lance had expected more _evil_ sounding noises, but it sounded more like Lance's tutor when he mixed the potions wrong and something exploded. Only with marginally more disdain for humans, apparently. 

It thudded even closer. Lance started screaming again. It had slitted purple eyes, huge leathery wings, and miles upon miles of red scales. Its eyes shone powerfully in the darkness and when it spoke it exposed wickedly sharp teeth, each the size of a small knife. _That's a dragon_ , his mind supplied helpfully, around the same time he started screaming again with increased volume and desperation. Those teeth were clearly made for eating humans and here was Lance, a human, and said teeth were inches from his face. 

“Stop that.” The dragon puffed another cloud of smoke into his face and growled deep in its throat. “Saved its life and it won't even shut up,” it mumbled, shaking its enormous head.

Lance resented being called an it, especially by a _dragon._ He shook off his irritation, reminding himself that there were more pressing things at stake, such as the fact that he was about to _be_  steak himself. Backed up frantically against the wall of what he quickly discovered was a cave, Lance allowed himself to wonder _why and how_ he came to be in a cave with a huge dragon. 

“Saved my life?” he whimpered.

The dragon crouched down on its enormous haunches and glared right at Lance with one huge eye. "Yes, so you can stop screaming like that,” it rumbled, collapsing to the floor and closing its eyes. It looked like it was sleeping - or trying to - but in the darkness Lance could make out trails of blood along the floor and the shallow rise and fall of its chest, sickly and weak.

It made no move to get up. Apparently it was saving Lance for a midnight snack. Maybe even breakfast, if he was lucky. 

Lance stared ahead into the gloom. The last thing he could remember was being deployed on a patrol, complaining to Hunk about how he had to go on another stupid defense patrol that didn't even _need_ a mage. Sure, he was only an apprentice, but couldn't he get at least slightly exciting missions? How was he supposed to improve if he never got any experience? He remembered considering stabbing someone in their sleep so he could practise his healing as the patrol was leaving the castle and then… Nothing. And now he was trapped in a cave with a bleeding, talking dragon that claimed to have saved his life. He was acutely aware that this thing was easily three times the size of a large horse and therefore that pissing it off sounded like a horrible idea.

“Where am I?” he asked timidly.

 

The dragon cracked open one purple eye. “Uh, my cave?”

 

“Right, but,” Lance forced himself to keep talking through the clicking of his teeth chattering in fear, “Why am I here?”

 

The dragon craned its long neck to look at him, in a movement that obviously caused it pain. Injured animals, Lance thought deliriously, needed to eat. The dragon didn't look to be in good enough shape to go hunting, and it had a defenceless human morsel right here. He squished his eyes shut and prepared himself to be burnt to pieces; maybe he'd just have his head torn clean off. A loud smacking sound startled his eyes open and he looked up to see the dragon flicking its tail unhappily.

“You're afraid?” it said quietly. Its pupils had grown from catlike slits into ordinary round circles as it peered at Lance with concern.

 

“Well, I'm in a cave with an enormous fire-breathing monster,” he remarked, “So yeah, pretty afraid.”

 

“Monster,” the dragon repeated quietly, as though it had never heard the word before. It shook its huge head with enough force to spray blood across the cave. Lance looked down in alarm to find himself speckled with ruby droplets. The dragon didn't seem to notice or care. “I won't hurt you,” it said slowly. “That would be a big waste of saving you.”

Lance shot it a questioning look.

 

“You don't remember, human? You managed to stumble onto a fae tournament.” It paused, settling its head on its paws like a dog. Its huge eyes never strayed from Lance's face as it spoke. “The fair folk like their entertainment… bloody. A sentry found you out in the woods nearby and brought you in and The Queen was delighted, because fae really love nothing more than seeing humans being ripped to shreds.”

Lance's eyes bulged. His memory was suddenly flooded with faint images: wandering away from camp a little ways to relieve himself; the man who'd stepped out of the tree, not like he was hiding behind it but like he'd been a part of it; flashes of an enormous crowd, bigger than any he'd ever seen, all snarling and jeering and whooping. He remembered huge snapping jaws and suddenly curled further away from the red dragon. Its attentive eyes noticed the movement and it seemed to wince.

Then Lance was hit by the sudden, solid memory of a boy with dark hair curling around his pointed ears. Fae then, but he seemed familiar somehow, and in the memory he was distinctly _good_. Lance remembered being carried in his arms, then being propped up against the wall with pale hands running over his skin with concern. He could recall sparks of reddish light trailing from his fingers and seeping into Lance's skin. The memory faded and Lance suddenly realised that he, too, was bloody. His tattered clothes were soaked in the stuff, and it was smeared across the walls and floors around him. And yet he didn't feel injured in any way. He still remembered the teeth marks running up his arm and the weeping gash across his chest, but a quick examination of his bare arms showed him to be completely fine.

 

“Where's the boy?” he demanded, struggling upright. “The boy… who healed me, what did you do with him?”

The dragon's tail swished unhappily and its eyes narrowed back into guarded slits. “He's gone.”

“You hurt him!” Lance screeched, recognising the dark edge in the dragon's oddly human voice.

It rolled its eyes, a distinctly uncomfortable sight to see on a dragon. “I can't lie. I'm _telling_ you I didn't hurt him,” it insisted.

That was a well known fact about fae, but Lance could think of some very substantial differences between dragons and fair folk. The ability to lie could easily be another. Also, being so shrouded in legend as they were, Lance had always wondered if the fae had not simply cultivated that myth to make it easier for them to trick humans. Not that he had ever devoted much thought to their existence until now. 

He'd always known they existed since his discovery of the little hobgoblin creature that used to creep into his room and make his clothes slightly bigger each day, until he was convinced he was shrinking. That pesky thing was the reason he first started studying charms in the first place. It was a good thing in a weird way, because without it he'd never have gotten to be the new apprentice to the mage up at the castle. He smiled subconsciously at the memory of how proud his mother had been when he'd left home to start his training at the castle.

Then he snapped back to his current circumstances, which included being watched interestedly by a dragon.

“Fae can't lie, but how do I know that's what you are?” he said stubbornly.

“Because. Dragons are owned by the Unseelie. We follow the same magic and-”

“ _Owned_?” Lance echoed.

“Yes. I'm under the control of the Unseelie Queen. Our fealty is different from the human kind. Stronger. That's why it's not easy to be a traitor.” It sounded almost smug as it stretched its neck out to lick at a wound on its back. It wrinkled its nose up at the taste of blood on its tongue but continued anyway, ignoring Lance.

“Why would you swear fealty to this lady?” Lance knew enough to know that the Unseelie were uncontestably Bad. The limited portrayals of the Seelie that Lance had encountered ranged from still-dangerous tricksters to playful angels, but every source was definitely agreed about the motives of their darker counterparts.

“Didn't. Blood fealty.”

The dragon's voice was unreadable and blunt. What ‘blood fealty’ was Lance didn't know, but it didn't sound good. He suddenly wished he had his tutor with him. Coran was a strange man but it seemed like he probably had a lot more knowledge about fae than Lance did. Any knowledge at all would be greatly appreciated right now.

 

“I don't feel like I should trust you,” Lance said slowly. Waking up in a strange cave with a reptilian, unseelie creature and hazy memories didn't put him in a trusting mood. But it made no sense - if the dragon wanted  eat him, it wouldn't care whether he trusted it. It would just eat him. Aside from that, he couldn't see what else he had to offer that would merit needing to earn his trust. The noises of the dragon grooming itself stopped abruptly as it craned back around to focus its intense gaze back on Lance. “But I'm helpless against you either way so, like, I might as well.”

The dragon puffed out a cloud of smoke, though not into Lance's face this time. It didn't say anything but Lance could feel its eyes burning a hole in his face, though he kept his own gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground. The only noise was the dragon's laboured breathing and the scrape of its barbed tail swaying along the floor of the cave.

“You're injured,” Lance remembered. “Did you… Get hurt saving me?”

The dragon snorted loudly. It was too disdainful to be a laugh and accompanied by another puff of smoke, but seeing amusement on its huge, fire-breathing face was almost disconcerting. It made half of Lance relax while the other half of him was set even further on edge.

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me how you _did_ get hurt?” Lance prompted when no response followed.

“The Tournament,” it responded lazily. “I don't remember human memories being _this_ short.”

Lance wracked his brain for any recollection of the battle. If he could actually remember what had happened maybe he'd understand his current circumstances better and be able figure out why the dragon saved him. All that he remembered was red snapping jaws and the cruel eyes of the woman on the golden throne.

At jousting matches at the castle the King and his daughter would sit high up in the Royal box where they were safely away from the action with a good view and away from all the peasants. Unlike them, this woman instead sat at ground level, separated from the battle only by a few metres of grass and rippling air. The Unseelie Queen.

 

“We fought,” he guessed. “Did I injure you?”

The dragon's eyes scrunched right up and Lance cowered. He'd injured it and it was angry and he'd just reminded it and now it looked completely furious and- oh. It was _laughing_. Its eyes were scrunched up with mirth and its chest was going up and down rapidly and it was puffing smoky air out of its nose with its head tilted to one side. There was a deep rumbling emanating from it; although it didn't seem capable of actually making the noise, it was very clearly amused. Lance just stared at it in shock before he righted himself and bristled. The one thing that made this savage, irritable creature laugh was the prospect of Lance injuring it? Even though he was about ten times smaller than it, he felt affronted.

 

The dragon fell silent. It didn't seem like it was going to specify how it had been hurt, but Lance could guess it was from battling other things in the Tournament.

“I'm a healer.” _Well, an apprentice_. “I could help.”

It snorted and rolled over, glancing around the barren cave. “With what, exactly? Besides, I don't want humans poking around me and sticking plants in my wounds, thanks. Your herbs may very well not even work the same way on a creature like me.” Its lips curled distastefully around the end of the sentence.

“I know charms,” he argued, not quite sure why he wanted to make the huge dragon more dangerous. A healthier dragon could only mean more danger, yet he was strangely keen to offer his help. Limited as it may be. Without the help of herbs and amulets his magic wasn't very powerful, but he could at least try. His tutor, Coran, said his natural magic was impressively strong, but since no one was allowed to use magic without a permit and a year of preparatory training, he'd only just begun to actually cast anything. Without the direction of physical aids his magic was probably all but useless.

 

The dragon's head snapped up.

“Are you _stupid_? The Queen will sense unfamiliar magic being used in her territory and you'll get us _both_ killed.”

“Oh.”

“You have magic?” it asked curiously, after its defensive anger had faded. “Why didn't you use it, in the arena?”

Lance shrugged. “I'm just a healer. I don't know attack magic.”

The dragon made an unreadable noise in the back of its throat and rolled over onto its side with a huge thud. The impact shook the cave and reminded Lance just what he was dealing with.

“I want to rest now,” it rumbled.

“Wait! I want to go home- I mean… you rescued me. Can I go back now?”

Unfortunately he couldn't see the dragon's face anymore to gauge its reaction, but he heard its inhale. “You can't. You wouldn't be able to make it out on your own, and I can't leave until the Tournament is over.”

“Which is…?”

The dragon just shrugged its giant shoulders and shifted a little to get comfortable.

“So I just have to stay here for a little while and then you'll take me home and I can forget all about all of this fae madness.” He said it mostly to himself but the dragon made a noise of complaint and threatened to incinerate Lance if he didn't stop talking.

“You're going to have to stop being so grumpy if we're going to be cavemates. I'm Lance,” he added, happily ignoring the dragon's warning. Instinctively, he reached hand out. He retracted it just as quickly when he realised his companion didn't exactly have hands.

Its tail thudded loudly against the rock and the echo rang out three times before it faded into oblivion, replaced by a furious hiss.

“Stupid!” It growled, heat sizzling in its voice and its eyes. Lance suddenly shrank away from its elongated silhouette, seeking refuge in the darkness. It had just started to seem less terrifying, and all of a sudden it was turning upon Lance with a fearsome rage that made his tremble. “ _Stupid_ little human! Don't _ever_ tell anyone your true name.”  

Its tail continued to thrash for some time before slowing down and eventually stopping, the noise still ringing in Lance's ears.

“I didn't tell you my full name,” he whispered timidly.

It regarded him through slitted eyes, eerie intensity making Lance cower further in on himself. It huffed a breath of hot but smokeless air that made Lance's hair flutter in the gust.

“You didn't know, I suppose,” it said slowly. It sounded gentle, suddenly. “Don't be afraid. I was only thinking of your safety. Anything that I know is not safe from The Queen. If she learns your true name, you'll _wish_ you'd died fighting me.”

Lance tried not to think about the fact that the dragon knew Lance was here, hiding in the cave, but he couldn't stop the thought from spilling out regardless. “But you know I'm here.”

It rumbled in assent. “Then let's hope she doesn't ask me if I'm entertaining guests."

“How did you get me here, if you can't lie or disobey her?” Lance wondered.

“I can't lie, but you learn to make good use of ambiguous language. I asked her if I could taste your blood in my cave. You were already half dead, and she'd had her fun.”

“You told her you were going to _eat_ me?!” he shrieked.

“Yes,” said the dragon coolly. It wrinkled its nose in distaste like an enormous cat. “I had to taste your blood, too. If she asks just how you tasted, I will have to say unsatisfactory.

“ _Gross_ , you ate my blood!” Lance complained, feeling strangely violated. The dragon seemed just as unhappy about it as he did, though. He wasn't sure if ‘your blood tastes unsatisfactory’ was an insult worth responding to. “Now that you've got my blood and half my true name, what can I call you?”

 

“The name I give to the Folk is Red.”

 

“Wow, unoriginal _and_ unimpressive. Don't you have something fearsome and dragon-y to strike fear into heart of your enemies?”

  
Red’s eyes narrowed back into slits but Lance could see the fire that lit in them. “I don't rely on words to make them afraid.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance slept fitfully. Red breathed  _loudly_ and it provided almost soothing background noise except from the occasional pained noise that each time jerked Lance out of whatever mild relaxation he'd managed to achieve. The cave was cold, too, and Lance had only his torn up clothing for warmth. Well, and a huge sleeping fire breather, but he didn't want to disturb Red or put himself that close to a giant unconscious body that was covered in spikes.

Enticing moonlight crept in through cracks in the cave wall and Lance eventually abandoned sleep to follow the light to a small opening. This wasn't the direction Red came from before, and it was way too small - there must be another entrance somewhere. But there was a deliberate seeming hole and it was the perfect size for a human head to poke out. So Lance did. And was immediately glad he'd found this viewpoint and not the dragon sized one that didn't have anything stopping him from toppling out.

They were high up, set in the side of an enormous hill that Lance had never even glimpsed in the distance before, not on patrols through these very woods or from the elevated turrets of the castle. The sides of the hill were steep and rocky, with several other large holes in that could all easily allow other dragon sized creatures to enter. Lance gulped. Below them was an expansive grassy plain that he'd never seen either, despite hunting in these woods since he was a child. A huge colosseum seemed to grow out of the ground, not made of rock as far as Lance could tell, but living wood and earth rising dizzyingly high above the grass.

The colosseum itself seemed deserted, but around it the plains were lit by a mishmash of different coloured lights, set in the walls of the arena, hovering in the air, and spinning with the dancers who covered the entire area. It was too high up to make out any definite features, but he could see a blurry mess of revellers and hear the faint strains of music. The air that rose from the dance was heavy and intoxicating, like the lighthearted fun of human dances concentrated into something addictive and unmistakably dark.

“You can watch but don't listen to the music for too long.”

Lance whipped around to find Red watching him. The dragon looked sleepy and groggy, a strange sight across its sharp features.

“Wha- oh. Right, thanks.” He stepped back from his viewing hole and immediately every sound and glow from the festival disappeared, returning to the simple glow of moonlight and nothing else. “Red?”

“Lance?” it mimicked, sounding amused in its dryly reluctant way.

“You're a him, right?”

Lance didn't miss the surprised, curious glint in Red’s eyes.

“Generally seems that way,” he agreed. 

“Alright. Feels weird thinking of you as an it when you have a name,” Lance yawned. He nearly tripped over Red’s tail on his way back to the corner of the cave that he'd been curled up in. The dragon had laid back down and shut his eyes, but appeared to be awake.

“Stop it,” Red groaned sleepily.

Lance startled. “Stop  _what_?” He wrapped his arms around himself protectively, still trying to find a comfortable position on the floor without moving too much from the spot where he'd been laying that was warmed with escaping body heat. Each time he moved, newly cold rock bit into his back and sent him wiggling back into the pre-heated section. Even with his own body heat reflected back at him from one side, it was miserably cold. 

“You're… rattling. It's really very annoying.”

Lance hissed out a surprised laugh. “I can't help it, I'm  _cold,”_ he explained. “What, you don't shiver?” His arms snaked around his sides in an attempt to preserve some heat and he raised his eyebrows at the dragon's clueless, inquisitive noise. Now that he was fully awake, not curled in a half asleep ball against the wall of the cave that he'd warmed a little, he was desperately aware of how low his temperature was. The cold air burrowed into his back and legs through the gaps in his clothing.

“It's hard to be cold when your insides are filled with fire.” Red cracked open one eye and snorted a cloud of black smoke as if to illustrate his point. He closed his eyes again and shuffled around like a dog trying to make a bed. Lance muffled a laugh at the startling comparison.

“You're still rattling,” the dragon hummed into the darkness after a while. “... Shivering. Stop it.”

“I told you,” Lance insisted, “I can't help it. I'm cold.”

There was a scraping sound as Red’s various horned and spiky appendages were dragged across the ragged cave floor and Lance opened his eyes to see the dragon had got to his feet. He braced himself for something: Red had said he wasn't going to eat the young apprentice, but maybe Lance's various annoying noises had changed his mind. Possibly, Red was going to light a fire, though there was no fuel that he could see. He didn't think Red was any more eager than Lance was for them to sleep close enough together to share warmth, either, which ruled our that solution.

“There's an underground hot spring running through the rock just below here,” he explained, shuffling to the side to leave space where he had been, then settling down again in his doglike way. 

Lance stood up and sleepily stumbled over to the vacant section of the cave. He started to settle down again in the new area, and was just opening his mouth to say it didn't make him feel any warmer when a startled squeal was jolted out of him instead: Red had curled his tail carefully around Lance and tugged him slightly to the left. Suddenly he could feel the deliciously heated rock beneath him. Nodding a small thanks to the dragon, he curled up around the heat on the hard floor. Without the clicking of his teeth and bitter cold sinking into his bones, he fell asleep quickly.

 

* * *

 

 

Dawn was seeping in through the small view hole in the cave hole by the time Lance woke again. As expected, he was cramping in muscles he didn't even know he had from sleeping in a cave. At least he was alive. The dragon who was currently sharing his lodgings was awake too, standing in the corner and moving around  but with his back to Lance so he couldn't see what was going on.

 

His stomach’s sudden grumble drew both his and Red’s attention.

“Good morning,” Red rumbled.

“Good morning, huge dragon that I live with now. What's for breakfast?” Lance chirped, trying to keep his own morale up.

Red blinked owlishly at him. “I eat in the evenings. You were still passed out when I ate yesterday.”

“Um, usually I eat three meals a day. I'm hungry  _now_ ,” he whined. He'd been fairly annoying so far and Red hadn't ripped his head off, so he was surprisingly unconcerned about irritating the huge dragon. Scratch that, he was still a little nervous. The combination of hunger and detachment from the absurdist world that had become his reality just outweighed the fear.

He felt Red’s violet eyes searching his face intently. It made him want to hide his face in three feet of rock.

“Wait here.”

Lance didn't really have a choice, since he didn't even know the way out of the cave and wasn't meant to reveal his existence to the other fae who were probably nearby for the tournament. He watched Red disappear down a well lit tunnel, all his injuries obvious from behind when illuminated. Having seen all the blood he'd left on the floor, Lance shouldn't be surprised, but he had to bite his lip to hold back a gasp. There were bite marks littered along his side, along with the wounds Lance had noticed before, varying in size and shape. Most of them seemed to have only dented the scales slightly but one patch was completely bare of scales to reveal the weeping flesh beneath and another wound on the back of his leg was yellow tinted and shining with pus.

“Red!” Lance called out just as a whoosh of air indicated that Red had exited the cave.

 

* * *

 

The dragon returned with something small and furry in his jaws and a whole stem of blackberry laden brambles in his claws. He dropped both in front of Lance before sitting back on his haunches with an expectant look. It reminded Lance a lot of a cat dropping a mouse at its master’s feet, and the prize was similarly gruesome. Lance took the blackberries, mindful of the prickly thorns, and eyed the dead rabbit warily.

“I know it's not much meat but it's all I could catch. I didn't have much time,” Red said defensively, the hurt evident on his face as he nudged the dead creature towards Lance with one bloody claw. Its eyes were wide open. It twitched, still clinging on to life and Lance turned away, gagging. Nothing but bile splattered onto the cave floor, his stomach empty. He'd always been stupidly squeamish. 

“Are you ill?” Red asked curiously, stepping closer.

Lance turned around at the sound only to gag again and skitter further away when he noticed that there was blood on the dragon's mouth too, barely visible against his red scales.

“Don't!” he whimpered. His back hit the cave wall and prevented him from stepping back any more, so he was forced to meet the eyes of the dragon whose hot breath was ruffling his hair. He kept his focus trained on Red’s eyes so he didn't have to look at his bloody mouth or the dead rabbit on the floor. He thought he saw a flicker of hurt, but then the dragon’s glowing eyes shuttered abruptly and he stepped back. “You have blood on your claws,” Lance said shakily.

 

The blackberry juice looked a little too much like blood to be entirely comfortable given the circumstances, but Lance's stomach protested until he hesitantly put one in his mouth. He picked a couple more and ate them as Red preened himself, licking and biting at his own claws more aggressively than Lance personally thought the tiny bit of blood and dirt called for. They sat in heavy silence as Lance filled his stomach with the berries and Red groomed himself. The blood was gone and he'd moved on to picking out dead scales and dried blood from his own wounds. Neither of them so much as looked at the rabbit. 

“Why did you kill it!” Lance burst out, more angry than he'd expected.

Red looked up with childlike confusion in his face as he tilted his head to the side. “You… It's food.”

“It was alive and happy a-and it could've had babies… It looked so  _scared_. How could you just have  _killed_ it?” He shuddered, unsure why he was so shaken. Most of what he ate at the castle was ambiguous broth with chunks of vegetables and probably meat in, but seeing the food actually look like something that had been alive was different. What really upset him, he realised, was how callously Red had dropped it. He'd probably snapped the poor rabbit's neck in his jaws, felt its lifeblood in his mouth, and it hadn't affected him at all. That thought was what chilled him to the bone - Red’s casual attitude towards killing things.

Red had the big, sad eyes of a dog that had gotten its nose rapped for stealing scraps, set in the face of a murderous reptile. It wasn't enough to undo the knot of fear in Lance's gut, but it made him pause in surprise as the dragon curled away from him. He caught a glimpse of red sparks - _magic,_ he realised. Not like his weak, human magic, but real magic that crackled and hissed like fire and set the whole room thrumming with energy. Lance's eyes were already bulging when a small form jumped over Red’s paw and bounded into the cave. A rabbit.

“Wh- how did you-  _what_ -” Lance babbled, jaw hanging open in shock. 

Red was watching the rabbit with an expression Lance was familiar with from the face of the castle mouser watching a rat in the hayloft. He seemed to be straining with the effort of not pouncing on it. It was… bemusing. Lance tried not to think  _cute_. He had to try even harder when Red looked up at him with what seemed to be the dragon version of a shy smile. He couldn't smile with his mouth for obvious, toothy reasons; his eyes glittered proudly with a shy questioning undertone fluttering in them. He tilted his head hopefully.

Lance darted forward and scooped up the trembling creature. Using his own magic felt embarrassing after what Red had done but he channeled his best calming intentions down his fingers as they stroked at the rabbit's long ears, muttering gently to it about how it was safe now. A little empathy magic couldn't hurt, one rung in the ladder above singing a lullaby, barely supernatural and hardly enough to alert this mysterious queen to any individual presence. Even Red didn't seem to notice, though when the rabbit stopped quaking Lance lifted his head to find Red’s eyes drilling holes in him.

“That was amazing!” Lance breathed in awe. His face fell and he added with a frown, “Except that you killed it in the first place.” He couldn't shake the feeling of wonderment, though.

Red was still eyeing the rabbit cagily as he mumbled, “It wasn't totally dead. I can't do  _that,"_  He seemed closed off all of a sudden, eyes flickering between Lance and the floor.

Lance made a delighted noise when the rabbit delicately took the berry out of his hand and ate it. His own magical contribution seemed to have tamed it. If only that would work on Red. He snorted at the thought as the rabbit hopped into the circle of his crossed legs, stroking its ears absent-mindedly as he gazed up at the dragon.

“Can't you heal yourself?” He eyed the infected looking bite mark on Red’s leg.

“A rabbit takes a lot less energy than a dragon to heal. I'd rather have my strength to fight than to patch up a couple of scrapes.”

Lance flinched at the realisation that Red had wasted energy on saving the rabbit, though he claimed it didn't use much, when he didn't have the strength to waste on the angry gashes that covered his whole body.

“I have energy,” he piped up.

“And you can't use your magic here. I'll heal when the Tournament ends.”

“If you make it that far,” Lance said darkly, unable to tear his eyes away from Red’s injuries. The further the sun rose in the sky, the more battered the dragon looked. “I need you to survive so I can get out of here.” If Lance cared whether bunny lived or died, he may also be slightly invested in the lives of human-level sentient dragons -  but since Red didn't seem to understand why he'd been upset over the rabbit, he didn't want to voice his  _very slight_ concern for Red either.

“The boy,” he remembered with a jolt. “Is he in the fights too?”

Red flashed his teeth at the mention of the faery boy. “Yes, sort of.”

“Don't hurt him!” the protest spilled out of Lance's lips before he could consider what ‘sort of’ meant. Red was smiling with his eyes again but this time the expression was underlaid with the flash of sharp teeth. He looked devious in a concertedly faery way, the strange threads of humanity that Lance had grown familiar with vanishing as his expression slammed shut.

“I don't think you need to worry about that.”

Just as Lance opened his mouth to ask what on Earth that was supposed to mean, the entire cave was rattled by a piercing horn. It sounded like the call of the hunt back at the castle, only a thousand times louder and distinctly more bloodthirsty. Lance didn't even like the human hunt going out and ripping innocent foxes to shreds, so he doubted he'd enjoy this faery version. Red grinned wickedly at him over the sound.

“That's my cue.”

Lance followed him to the main entrance of the cave, large enough for a dragon to take flight from. Vertigo clutched at him when he caught sight of the huge drop. His fingers clung desperately to the cave walls even though he stayed a good few feet inside the entrance. The fear of falling was combined with both shock at the enormous gathering of fae filling the arena below them, and the realisation that he couldn't escape from this cave without Red even if he wanted to.

“Good luck.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The viewing hole was enchanted. Lance should've noticed last night, what with how it blocked out all the deafening sounds from the revelry as soon as he stepped away from it.

When he initially poked his head through with the hopes of at least being able to glimpse Red’s enormous form and have a brief idea how the battles were progressing, it became obvious: he could hear and see everything. All he had to do was focus on a particular person or group and they suddenly became  _clear_ to him, despite being some hundred feet away. Some conversations were still muffled, like they had a bubble around them; Lance assumed these people had enchantments of their own against eavesdropping.

He could only hope that the hole was also glamoured from the outside. It wouldn't be ideal for a sharp eyed fae to glance upwards and notice a tiny human face peering out of the mountain.

His focus naturally gravitated to the queen. Various creatures writhed at her feet - Lance hoped they were simply attendants and not being punished, but he doubted it. Something flashed in the corner of his vision and Lance fell back from the hole in shock, his jaw hanging open.

Leaning against the throne with his eyes cast down was the boy who’d healed him the day before. There were others in The Queen’s company, decked in similar finery, but Lance directed his focus exclusively onto her familiar companion. He found them halfway through a hushed conversation. It took Lance a great deal of concentration to be able to hear their low voices, but he easily registered the coldness in the boy's tone.

In return, the Queen seemed fascinated with him, like he was a new racehorse or an interesting gadget.

“Sit, little one,” she ordered, addressing him in the same tone Lance had seen the kennelman addressing his favourite hound.

He was clearly unhappy and Lance even thought he caught him staring daggers at her. She whispered something in his ear, claws raking through his hair with mocking tenderness, and his face twisted.

“Good, child,” she purred, audible again.

Lance flinched, full of the desire to burst out of the cave and rescue this boy, to whom he owed his life, from the Queen's cruelty. Still, Lance thought, head suddenly filled with images of yellow infection against red scales, he'd got away with much fewer scars from her sadism than Red had. The dragon's cryptic ‘sort of’ came to mind as he realised that the boy by the Queen's side was also injured. Most of his skin was hidden away by finery but scratches stood out red against the pale of his exposed neck and hands.

 

Lance watched curiously as he settled on a cushion beside her. The first fight was obviously about to begin. He braced himself for the sight of Red, but two unfamiliar creatures appeared and immediately launched into battle. The Queen was watching with a twisted smile while all her attendants and the members of the audience that Lance's gaze took in were all watching intently. Some were watching in quiet awe, others clapping and cheering. A few had more human expressions of horror, eyes focused like they couldn't look away. Unlike them, the black-haired faery at the Queen’s side was glaring resolutely at the floor. Lance watched as her limbs snaked at an impossible angle to squeeze his jaw tight in her taloned hands. Her gaze never strayed from the battlefield, but she held his face up so he couldn't look away until the first fight was over with the thudding of something falling to the ground.

 

Lance couldn't bring himself to look at the blood soaked battlefield so he kept his eyes trained on the Queen instead. When she finally released her grip, her nails had left red half moons in the boy's face.

 

Lance watched battle after battle, both hoping Red would appear on the field and praying he wouldn't. He watched utterly inhuman balls of darkness fight dragons much bigger than Red; giants and dwarves and animated trees clashed with one another in endless cycles. Eventually he learned that he could stray from the hole but if he kept his focus there he could still hear the sounds outside. It provided welcome relief - standing wedged against the wall watching timeless hours of fighting was beginning to exhaust him physically and mentally.

The end of battle was marked by the thud of a body falling to the ground, or the clatter of a weapon and the beginning of a new one was marked by a sudden cheer from the crowd. He couldn't discern any sort of rules - many times the battle didn't end until lifeblood was spilled, but sometimes two battered opponents would simply nod at each other and vacate the field alive. Sometimes both would fall, or one creature would remain in the ring for opponent after opponent until it eventually succumbed.

 

He retreated to the heated corner of the cave with the rabbit in his lap for both of their comfort, one ear on the games raging outside. At every cheer he would race to the little window, look unsuccessfully for Red, and leave again. At some point he noticed the faery with the queen had disappeared, replaced by a pretty girl with solid blue eyes and transparent wings who Lance had to struggle to draw his eyes away from. She seemed more content with the Queen's company and Lance hoped the faery boy had been excused from watching the battle any longer after failing to spot him nearby.

 

With no small amount of satisfaction, he noticed his hands were glowing blue where he stroked the rabbit. Coran said light and colour were indications of a solid connection to the magic. Lance's usual charms were mostly intention based, heavily grounded in physical props. The blue light meant he was closer to the kind of magic Red used, the purer, stronger, more versatile kind that ran through the life force of every living thing. He'd only gotten this close a couple of times before, once with serious help from Coran and once healing his sister when they were children and she'd fallen into the frozen village pond and come out blue-faced. The latter time it had burst out from him instinctively before he even really knew of magic.

He drew his hands back with a yelp when he remembered Red’s warning about using magic. The tiny emotional magic he'd been casting hardly seemed a problem; Red hadn't even noticed him aiming it at the rabbit when they were in the cave together. That magic was fuzzy and blurry and untraceable, nothing more than washing his bolstered emotions into the other animal. Pure enchantment, like what had just been trailing from his fingers, was far more obvious and far more recognisable as coming from a human. He rushed to the window, but the Queen was thankfully immersed in the battle and hadn't noticed the faint traces of human magic. Spellcasters everywhere adding to the adrenaline of the battle with light shows probably helped mask it too.

 

He removed his face from the peephole just as he heard a familiar growl and immediately shoved it back in.  _Red_.

* * *

 


	2. The one where Red fights a dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance watches Red fight and gets to use his healing skills. Red does his very best not to let anyone help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's supported me so far! *clutches Oxford commas to my chest*

Red’s battle gave Lance several small heart attacks. First the sheer size his opponent, a huge green dragon whose steps seemed to rattle the ground. It was easily three times the size of Red, making the creature Lance thought of as huge look comically small. Red stood with his wings lifted but not unfolded and Lance waited for him to cower at his giant opponent, but the smaller dragon just snarled. Some of the earlier battles Lance had seen had lasted through hours of the combatants circling and taunting each other. In this battle, however, Red immediately lunged for his enemy with a ferocity that made Lance wince, jaws snapping at the green dragon’s foreleg.

Lance could see in great detail as the muscles rose in Red’s jaw with the effort of remaining firmly attached to the other dragon's leg. When he finally let go and leapt back, the other dragon stumbled on its injured leg.

 _Clever_ , Lance thought, oddly proud. Red had deliberately destabilised his opponent by savaging its leg. It couldn't bear its substantial weight without causing itself a great amount of pain. Whatever mobility it had was now severely handicapped. It was easy after that for Red to knock its feet away and send it sprawling onto its back.

Lance could've sworn he saw Red hesitate before he leaned down and tore his enemy’s throat, his eyes darting up the mountainside.

He came away with blood covering his face. Lance, desensitised after watching the same thing a dozen times already today and filled with relief that Red had made it out without any more injuries, couldn't bring himself to care. He kept his gaze rooted on the smaller dragon as Red crouched before his queen, tail hanging low and neck bared submissively.

“Well done, little red,” she purred. Red flinched as her hand settled on his muzzle, which was still bloodstained, and stroked it as though she was dealing with a docile housecat and not something that could breathe fire. “How would you like to taste some more  _refined_ blood?” She grinned wickedly and Lance noticed her teeth were even sharper than Red’s.

The dragon kept his eyes trained on the ground, looking much more afraid before this sharp-edged woman than he had been of the house sized monster he'd just faced. His hesitation seemed to please her, because her smile grew even wider as her impossibly long arm snaked out again, to the blue-eyed girl on the cushion beside her, dragging her to her feet and shoving her into the arena.

Lance's knees almost collapsed under him in shock. When he finally managed to return his focus to the colosseum below, he saw Red looking just as horrified. Another long-haired faery maiden appeared from somewhere and planted herself nonchalantly on the cushion. Her predecessor was gazing with wide eyes at the huge beast she was to fight and Lance felt a pang of sympathy. Empathy, technically, since he'd been in that very same position. He didn't remember much of his time in the ring but the few memories he had weren't pleasant ones.

“How now, daughter, you did not think yourself replaceable? There are  _hundreds_ more of you, child.”

Lance reeled.  _Daughter_? This woman was sending her own daughter to her death at the hands - claws - of a dragon, for  _amusement_. At least, Lance hoped it was her death and not Red’s. He jolted when he realised what he'd been thinking- a day here and he was already wishing death on innocent maids.

The queen grasped Red’s huge head in her palms. “Maybe she'll taste even better than your little knight.”

 

The cheer of the crowd was a lot more apprehensive than usual as Red and the princess began to circle. The dragon was far more hesitant this time, eyes lit up with pain. He barely attempted to dodge when the faery girl, who was trembling fiercely, hurled a blob of light towards him. He roared in pain when it burst on his side, leaving behind a patch of scorched flesh.

The minutes crept past agonisingly as neither Red nor the girl seemed keen on inflicting more injury, but the princess was motivated by fear to continue sending white blasts towards the dragon. Red spent all of his energy simply dodging her attacks. Lance was starting to wonder if perhaps they could just circle until the revelries began and the Queen grew bored, but then she thrust out a talon and ordered, “ _Fight_ , runt!”

Lance felt a twinge of defensiveness on Red’s behalf at his being called a runt but it was quickly forgotten. Red’s eyes flashed and he lunged for the girl with immense speed. She realised at the same time as Lance did that the only reason she was even still alive was because the dragon hadn't been  _trying_  to kill her. She was flat on her back in seconds with blood pouring out of her chest where the dragon's claws had punctured her skin. Lance felt bile rise in his throat but couldn't look away as she struggled weakly, Red’s claws digging deeper and deeper into her flesh. The Queen was leaning forwards in her seat with an expression of pure delight.

Lance swallowed hard and dragged his gaze to Red’s face, though he was afraid of what he would find. What he saw was contradictory to the sharp digits currently embedded in the princess's abdomen. Red looked like Lance felt. Eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling heavily, a shudder running through him. That didn't stop him from carving up the young faery just like the rabbit he'd almost killed that morning. The girl’s eyes slid shut and Lance watched her breathing slow. Red’s claws had stopped pressing deeper into her and he appeared to be paralysed, every muscle in his body held taut as he gazed helplessly at the Queen. Lance had never seen a dragon look helpless. It was unsettling, but not nearly as much as the death throes of the very human looking girl beneath Red’s paws.

The Queen shrugged and all of a sudden the same horn Lance had heard in the morning blared through the clearing again. It was unclear who'd sounded it, but Red leapt off the girl as soon as he heard it and collapsed to the ground.

“I love to see you beg, runt,” the Queen murmured, sounding indubitably smug. “We'll have to do  _something_ about you and your little reservations, though. You're really starting to spoil the fun.”

Red didn't reply, chest heaving like he'd been injured far worse than he had. He looked so utterly crestfallen that Lance's heart squeezed and he immediately hated that he was pitying the beast that had just essentially murdered a young girl just moments before. Her chest was still rising faintly but it was obvious that the end of the battle had come too late as her blood seeped out of the puncture wounds Red had left in her chest. There was no hope for her anyway.

Lance narrowed his eyes as Red strained towards the body and the unmistakeable flutter of red sparks suddenly lit the air, flowing from his mouth. For a panicked moment, Lance thought he was breathing fire at her. Was Red just making sure she didn't have even a  _chance_ at survival? But when he looked closely at the way the sparks settled on the girl like falling ash and began to cover her body in red light, he realised that it wasn't fire but  _magic_.

Lance and the Queen wore identical expressions of surprise as the girl's skin started to knit itself back together and the colour seeped back into her. All at once it was over and the sparks faded. The previously almost dead girl rose to her feet, only to drop to her knees before the dragon. Exhaustion was clear in every inch of Red’s face - Lance didn't know if it was physical or emotional. His eyes flickered over her for only a moment before sliding shut. She took her cue and scurried away somewhere unseen.

After that, the Tournament was clearly over for the day. Lance stayed at his post if only to watch Red as the Queen gave his prone form a cursory glance and then disappeared in a whirl of golden skirts. Red simply laid there with the steady rise of his breath and the pained contortion of his face the only sign of life.

The stadium emptied quickly around him. If it had been at all possible to get down there, Lance would've gone to him. As it was he could only watch as Red dragged himself to his feet like an old man and spat a stream of fire at the grass before taking flight into the dusk.

 

* * *

 

When Red finally returned, Lance didn't even have time to wonder if he should be comforting or angry because the dragon brushed past him like he didn't exist and curled into a tight ball in the far corner of the cave.

“Red-” Lance started. He shut his mouth when he was cut off by a growl. Red’s mouth and claws were still bloody, though it was smeared like he'd tried to wipe it off. The effect was fearsome enough to make Lance hesitant to challenge him. Instead he sat cross legged in the far corner with the rabbit, that he'd named Blue after the colour of the magic he'd managed to use on her. Watching her munch on the leftover leaves he fed her was a comfort in the heavy tension of the cave.

Lance watched the sky grow blacker through the hole in the cave wall with a frown.

“Shouldn't you be hunting?” He was still nervous to disturb Red, who hadn't moved from his position in hours. His eyes were closed but Lance could sense that he was awake. If his own stomach was growling and he hadn't fought any dragons today and brought two different creatures back from the brink of death, Red must be pretty hungry.

The dragon didn't respond with anything more than a long sigh. Feeling helpless, Lance clenched his fists. At this point he was ready to go out and spear a buck himself, even if the thought made him shudder, but he couldn't get out of the cave and he couldn't risk being seen by the fae anyways. Not to mention the fact that he had no idea where he would even find anything edible, let alone catch it.

“ _Red_ ,” he said firmly, forcing himself not to tremble as he approached the sulking dragon. Lance's loud voice managed to startle him into opening his eyes at least. “You need to eat.”

He was expecting a growl or silence but instead Red let out a long, low whine full of such anguish that Lance fell to his knees beside the dragon. He ran his thumb tentatively along Red’s muzzle. It came away bloody but he ignored it.

“I don't want… any more blood,” was what Red said, far from whatever Lance had been expecting. “You don't understand-”

Lance wiped at Red’s mouth even more determinedly, like he could take away the hurt along with the dried blood that got all over his hands. “I understand perfectly. She made you do it and you _still_ didn't,” Lance said confidently. He remembered what Red said about fealty and the strange look in the dragon’s eyes when he'd pounced, the hesitation and the look on his face like he was physically resisting, and he was certain Red hadn't chosen to draw blood, not in his second fight anyway.

Red scrambled up. “You  _saw_?”

Lance felt his mouth twist up. “You have an enchanted peep-hole,” he pointed out.

“Right.” With him in the cave next to it, it was clearly way too small for him to use. Maybe it came with the cave or Red had other human guests who liked to watch the battle from the safety of the cave.

Red dropped his head, eyes sliding shut mournfully. “You saw me rip that dragon’s throat out. You saw me-”

Lance's hand shoved against Red’s face was a small, ineffective muffle. Still, the intent was enough to silence him when combined with Lance's stern gaze.

“I saw you  _save_ that girl,” he challenged, “Like you saved me, when you won't even heal your own wounds. You've used a lot of energy today. You need to eat.”

The shock in Red’s eyes covered something more unreadable that Lance wasn't quite willing to try and unearth. Another puff of smoke filled the cave, the side effect of Red’s petulant grunt. Petulance was definitely better than abject self-hatred, Lance decided.

“And bring water. And calendula, or yarrow. For, uhhh… seasoning,” he lied. In truth, he was desperate to do something about that wound on Red’s leg before it went septic and those were the only herbs he could think of to treat infection that might grow close by. At least if they had some kind of healing properties he could charm them to increase their effect without alerting anyone to his magic. The plan was to wait until Red fell asleep and then wash out and treat his wounds.

Red gave him a flat, distrustful look, but eventually accepted it with a nod. Lance was suddenly grateful for his own ability to lie. He was struck by a sudden thought that made him hesitate. If fae couldn't lie, how did Red ever learn to sense if someone else wasn't telling the truth? 

 

* * *

 

Lance braced himself for Red to return with a dead sheep or deer and have to watch it getting ripped apart, but when he came back all he held in his claws was the herbs Lance asked for and more berries. A healthy human diet consisted of more than just berries, but Lance didn't have the heart to say that given Red’s current mood.

“Nothing for you?”

“I ate outside,” Red snapped. His wayward glance at Blue sent a jolt through Lance: he'd eaten outside the cave, even though eating in the open made him more vulnerable to attacks by scavenging predators he couldn't afford to waste energy fending off - because he thought it would make Lance uncomfortable.

Maybe he was overthinking things and Red just didn't want to drag the prey into the cave and get its blood everywhere. He hoped that was it. The amount of energy Red seemed to lose in daily self-sacrifice was becoming alarming. “I… There's meat, if you want it. Here I just eat meat and faery food -  _don't even think about eating their food_ \- and I don't know what else to bring for you.”

Lance shoved the herbs in his pocket for later and eyed the berries unenthusiastically. “Can you cook it? And make it… Not look alive?”

Red nodded, relieved. Then he crouched down with his wings parted. At Lance's startled look he explained, “The hilltop is deserted. It's sheltered from view by the standing stones. Everything is up there.” He fluttered his wings expectantly and eyed Lance, who suddenly realised he was expected to climb onto Red’s back. Hands held out defensively, Lance skittered back, ignoring Red’s hurt expression. That did _not_  look safe. 

“Uh, I-” the sentence ended in a strangled gurgle as Red stuck his head under Lance, who managed not to get impaled on his crest and somehow ended up on the back of a dragon. The floor  _already_ looked too far away and they weren't even in the air yet. He clung to the raised horn in front of him in an attempt to stave off the vertigo. Red’s eye-smile was still visible from up here and Lance relaxed at it despite himself. “Are you sure this is safe?”

Red rumbled his throaty almost-laugh and launched himself into the night air.

 

* * *

 

 

“There's a pool of spring water up here,” Red said conversationally as they landed. His landing was blessedly smoother than Lance expected, every muscle tight with concentration beneath Lance as he met the Earth with so much care it was almost  _delicate_. Still, when Lance slid down from his back, he ended in a dizzy heap on the floor that had Red twisting around in concern.

“I'm fine,” he groaned, heaving himself to his feet. “I'm dying but I'm fine.”

Red lead him to where a small bonfire was crackling in the centre of a circle of carefully arranged rocks. Each one was easily the size of Red and the sight had Lance tilting his face up to gape at them in awe. Soon his face was tilted even further, drinking in the sight of the stars he didn't even realise he'd been missing so much. His head dropped only when his neck began to protest. Red was watching Lance watch the stars with sparkling eyes.

“You like it?”

Lance could only nod. The wood of the bonfire was carefully arranged in a way that seemed difficult to arrange with huge, clumsy claws - Lance hoped Red hadn't wasted even more magical energy on arranging the spit that stood over the flames. There was a chunk of blessedly unrecognisable meat skewered on it, slowly charring. He reached a hand to take it and was smacked back by Red’s claw. How could he be so gentle with the same appendage that had killed just hours earlier? Lance couldn't help his smile as he watched Red gently pluck the ends of the skewer between his teeth and drop it at Lance's feet.

“Don't be so eager to shove your hands into a fire, stupid.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?”

Red growled. It would've been more effective if his eyes weren't shining like that. He shook his head like a wet dog and curled close to the fire. Lance took a seat too, his feet almost touching the dragon’s snout as they sat in companionable silence.

“I know you're in pain,” Lance observed faux-casually around a mouthful of meat. His words startled Red out of his peaceful state in favour of narrowing his eyes at Lance.

“Doesn't matter.”

“Just let me look at it,” Lance begged. “If you get an infection you'll have to spend a lot more energy healing yourself. I know you don't want me poking around but are you really going to risk your life for it?”

Red rolled onto his front, then got to his feet. Lance raised his eyebrows meaningfully at the pained whimper Red let out when he set his weight back on his injured hind leg.

“Fine,” he growled. Lance's mouth snapped shut, expecting more resistance. He'd already prepared a tirade that consisted half of logic and half just of 'please please please please please please' until one of them died or Red gave in. Pleased with Red's defeat, he got to his feet and tried to look commanding.

“I need water. You said there was a spring?”

Red lumbered slowly through the circle of stones to the far side, away from the festivities below. The large standing stone hid a wide, clear pool that lead to a stream which trickled down the empty side of the mountain. He stood stiffly on the edge, looking unsure.

“Great,” Lance said with a smile. Without meaning to, he slipped into the voice he used when he was attending to children. Coran dealt with all the serious cases, so half of what Lance did without assistance from his tutor was tending to castle children with skinned knees and colds. “Just stand there for me so I can take a look.”

He started with the worst wound on Red’s leg, wishing he had some cloth to wipe it with. In the absence of anything suitable he just cupped water from the pool in his hands and splashed it at Red’s leg. The action made Red whimper loudly and almost kick Lance in the chest. It only got worse when he used his hands to pick out the larger bits of dirt embedded in it, until Red was shaking like a child. Except with the obvious difference that Red was large, strong, and  _sharp_. Lance hadn't realised quite how dangerous this whole task would be.

The rest of his wounds seemed to be okay - as okay as a wound could be. Red’s attentive grooming had kept dirt out of them and all but the wounds from today were mostly closed up, leaving just the scaly layer of armour compromised over barely punctured skin. He wondered if Red’s leg was so bad because he couldn't reach to clean it so well. The burn marks on his sides from today's battle had barely broken the skin but Lance still ran his fingers over them with a sympathetic wince. The only other thing he was really worried about was the hole on Red’s belly - it didn't have the sickly sheen on an infection like the wound on his leg but it was just so  _large_ , and there was still a steady trickle of blood oozing out of it. It had probably been torn open again during his battles today.

“You're not going to like this.” Lance sucked in a breath through his teeth. “These wounds, especially this one  _which is infected now because you wouldn't let me help earlier,_ are just so big, Red. If I had any equipment with me I'd try and stitch them up, but I don't, so we're going to have to cauterize them.”

Red flinched. “What does that mean?”

Wisely, Lance carefully sidestepped out of kicking reach before he explained. “It means we stick something really hot in them so they close up and it kills the infection,” he said tactfully.

“I don't really want that,” Red stuttered tensely. He was trying to sound irritated but Lance could hear how he was mostly just afraid.

“Well, do you want to lose your leg?” he snapped, a little harsher than he meant. “Sorry,” he murmured, placing a reassuring hand on Red’s flank. “I didn't mean to shout. You're my only ticket out of here, so really I want you to have all your legs.”

He helped Red back to his unsteady legs and they headed back to the stone circle. Red extinguished the fire with one strong exhale when Lance explained that they'd do the cauterising in the privacy of the cave because Red was probably going to make a lot of noise. He gathered up the leftover logs, found a big stone to heat, and was about to climb back onto Red’s back when the dragon stopped, remembrance crossing his face. He darted behind one of the stones and came back with a huge bundle of soft, dead grass.

“You were limping this morning from sleeping on the rock. It's not as good as a real bed but I gathered this and I thought you could use it for now.” He ducked his head shyly. The fact that he'd even thought about that made Lance's face split into a grateful smile. He climbed back onto Red’s back with the wood and stone in his hand while Red took flight again with the dry grass clutched in his claws.

“I hope you like pain,” Lance joked, a misjudged attempt to lighten to mood that only earned a fearful whimper from the dragon below him. Lance wondered how he could be so proud and yet the very thought of having his wounds heated was enough to make him whimper.

  
“I do not.”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out Red was right. He did _not_ like pain.

“Are you a dragon or a goddamn _pig_?” Lance grumbled as Red squealed loudly like a piglet and flung another burst of fire at the cave wall. “Please don't incinerate me,” he added, eyeing the multiple scorch marks splattered across the wall. He’d quickly discovered Red’s unfortunate habit of losing control of his fire when he was in pain, along with the loud noises of discomfort. It would've been funny if it wasn't so terrifying. “I'm trying to _help_ you,” he pleaded after dodging another kick from Red’s powerful hind legs. At the first kick, he'd thought Red had finally had enough and was trying to kill him but they were followed by a howl of pain and rushed apologies so Lance figured that they were just muscle spasms as Red’s overwhelmed brain short circuited and caused him to flail wildly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whined miserably, “I'm trying to be careful but it- _NONONO IT HURTSSSS_!”

Lance looked apologetic from where he was kneeling behind the wounded dragon with the hot stone, his hands shielded from the heat with the balled up remains of his ragged shirt. He stood up, dropping the rock, and rested his hand on a patch of Red’s flank that wasn't injured.

“You're doing great. You only almost killed me a couple of times,” he said soothingly. With his hand on the dragon's side he felt the answering sullen grumble more than he heard it. “Let's take a break before I do your other wound.” As gently as possible, he prodded at the long gash on Red’s belly to examine it. The bare skin was flesh coloured where it had been red with the blood that had now been sealed off under the heat. He flinched at Red’s low growl when he pressed it too hard.

“You're kind of scary when you're in pain. I'm sorry you have to suffer like this, Red. It's not ideal at all but at least now you won't get infected or bleed to death… Hopefully. It looks like you reopened this one while you were fighting today and it started bleeding again.”He wondered how much blood Red had lost over the last few days. Definitely no small amount. Probably too much.

“Sorry for being the worst patient ever.” After being around Red for twenty four hours he was no longer surprised at the fact that a faery dragon could sound self-deprecating. He paused to marvel at how much he'd changed in such a short time.

“You're definitely the weirdest patient ever, I'll give you that,” Lance agreed, “But if you think you're the _worst_ then you've never had to treat baby triplets, all with very vomity colic.”

Red blinked owlishly. “You're right, I have never done that.”

Lance laughed, doubling over and bracing his hand at the wall as he shook. It started off as amusement at Red's earnest reaction but when he looked up, the dragon was staring at him incredulously and the bewildered look on his face only made Lance laugh louder.

“I can't believe I'm in a cave in faeryland with a dragon talking about vomiting babies.”

“I'm actually beginning to wish you would press that blisteringly hot rock into my exposed flesh again,” Red grumbled.

“Well when you say it so sweetly…”

 

* * *

 

After Lance had finished treating a very disgruntled Red, he piled up the logs into a small bonfire which Red lit with a tiny fireball. He curled around it and Lance leaned against his side on a cushion of dry grass, watching the fire flicker in his purple eyes. The light from the fire and the shadows of the cave made him look every inch the fierce, mystical storybook creature he was. The fact that he was curled up tamely with a human settled comfortably at his side ruined the image somewhat.

Its purpose as a protective glove complete, Lance pulled his shirt back over his head. Already tattered, it was now scorched as well. Red raised an eyebrow at his bedraggled appearance.

“Are all humans so thin?”

Lance folded his arms protectively over his half bare chest. “I'm not _thin_ , I'm just lanky.” He contemplated flexing his muscles to prove his strength but in the time he spent considering it Red had dropped his head and shut his eyes again. His chest rose and fell against Lance's back, a little slower each time. It was surprising how fast he fell asleep, but he was probably exhausted. The only sound in the cave was his soft snoring.

Taking advantage of Red’s unconsciousness, Lance applied a paste of the herbs over the dragon’s biggest wounds until it ran out and he found himself empty-handed. With nothing to occupy himself with, he folded his legs and simply revelled in the warmth surrounding him from all sides between Red and the fire. He watched it flutter in contented silence as his consciousness slipped away.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance awoke to the glitter of faint sunlight across his face as the sun peered through the crack in the wall. The second thing he registered was something constricted around his chest and his resultant instinctive reaction was to immediately begin to thrash in the grip of whatever held him. The mysterious restraint only tightened as he wriggled, until it suddenly dropped away altogether and he fell backwards with the force of his movement without the mysterious thing holding him secure.

There was a thud. When the spots cleared from his vision he was blinking up at the concerned purple eyes of a big red dragon. Slowly, memories filtered through his morning haze and he began to remember where he was. His breathing started to slow as his panic subsided. Red crouched before him and nosed at him with concern, eyes glowing in the dim gloom of the cave.

“Lance?”

Lance could count on one hand the number of times Red had used his name and not called him ‘human’, generally preceded by ‘stupid’. Suddenly he didn't even have to fake his smile.

“I'm fine, sorry. I woke up and I didn't know where I was for a moment and I panicked,” he said cheerily. Keeping a positive tone no matter what was Lance's most favourite coping strategy and it worked well in that it distracted both him and whoever he was talking to from the realities of the situation. Despite the brightness he injected into his voice, Red regarded him thoughtfully.

“I'm sorry if I alarmed you. I wasn't- wasn't aware of what I was doing.”

Puzzled, Lance gazed blankly back at him. Memories of the moments before flooded back and he remembered the feeling of something wrapped tight around his ribcage and restricting his breathing: he'd woken up with Red’s tail curled tightly, possessively around him. That was why he'd panicked. The brittle smile on his face faltered. Did Red have subconscious violent strangling urges? What if he hadn't woken up in time or Red hadn't let go? All the relative comfort he'd built up flooded away and he found himself feeling vulnerable and afraid. Every time he almost managed to get settled, something would remind him of just how helpless he was in this entire situation. 

Red noticed the change in his face and made an upset keening noise as he shuffled further away.

“I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay? If you're hurt I'll heal you,” he rambled. It wasn't the first time Lance had seen him so utterly crushed at even the prospect of hurting someone, and he could only hope it would be the last - though causing injury to others was something of an occupational hazard for Red. Was it an occupational hazard if it _was_ your occupation, rather than an accidental side effect?

Lance followed him to the corner where he retreated, with the gait of someone approaching a wounded animal. Thankfully, Red allowed him to come closer.

“Hey, it's okay.” He found himself slipping into his healer voice again. “I'm fine, see. Even if I wasn't, I wouldn't let you heal me. You need to save your strength, Red.”

“Not if I hurt you,” Red insisted, sounding a little frantic. Lance stroked his muzzle in an attempt to soothe him, deciding not to mention the fact that if anything happened to Red he'd be trapped in this cave forever. Ultimately, he'd rather deal with some bruised ribs than waste Red’s energy and therefore diminish his chances of survival.

“It doesn't matter. I'm fine.”

Red turned huge, mournful eyes on Lance, the look in them so dizzyingly human that Lance had to turn away. He exhaled through his nose, close enough that the gust of air ruffled Lance's hair. It was a reminder of how huge and strong he was, how just his breath could imitate a powerful breeze. Even so, Lance could still remember how small he looked compared to the huge green dragon.

The comparison made him shudder. Even if Red had still won the fight in the end, it was scary to think of how many things were out there, even bigger and more fearsome, that even Red couldn't defend him from. The Queen had called him ‘little red’ and from what Lance had seen of the other faery creatures in the arena, she wasn't all that wrong.

When the horn sounded to summon Red and his competitors Lance's words were stuck in his throat with a paralysing fear.

“Please don't die,” he whispered, for once unable to even try and lighten the mood.

 

* * *

 

Lance grew restless after hours at the peephole, with Red nowhere to be seen. Everything was beginning to blur together until he could no longer focus on the peephole’s magic at all and everything was as distant and silent as it was in reality. He could see two blurry, humanoid figures in glinting armour circling each other but they were barely pinpricks in his vision so he was forced to give up trying to follow their fight.

The black-haired boy who'd sat by the Queen's side was noticeably absent, although Lance considered the constant stream of long haired girls taking the seat beside her and hoped that maybe he'd simply cycled out of her favour.

His question was answered not long after the horn sounded to signal the end of the day’s battles. There were noises coming from outside the cave. He sat up abruptly and rushed towards the mouth of the cave, following the sound of some very colourful curses with a worried grimace: in his experience, Red tended to be most aggressive when he was in pain and the ferocity of the curses indicated a lot of pain indeed.

Lance stopped. Collapsed in the doorway was a very human figure. Okay, when Lance stumbled closer he realised the boy had pointed ears and therefore evidently wasn't human, but he was _definitely_ not the dragon who'd been expected. And, as Lance watched, he lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.

Somewhere between gathering the small figure into his arms and setting him down carefully on the bed of hay, Lance realised this was the boy who’d healed him. The one from the Queen's side. He looked different unconscious, face both haggard and suffused with innocence.

It didn't take long for him to return to consciousness. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, forcing Lance to admit  that he was kind of beautiful. He sat up with a silent wince of pain and wide eyes fixed on Lance with an unreadable look that was strange against the grimace of pain and fear twisting his features.  
“What's happening?” he whimpered. 

“You're wounded, you blacked out. I'm Lance.” Lance stuck his hand out and then retrieved it just in case hand-shaking was another one of those cryptic faery rituals that made him a slave forever or some something.

The boy's face creased up in something like irritation. “I thought I- didn't anyone ever tell you not to tell the fair folk your true name?” His dirty black hair fluttered limply as he shook his head.

“I guess it's just instinct. What's your name?” he continued brightly, dismissing the boy's concerns. If he was worried about Lance sharing his true name, he probably wasn't going to use it unfairly. Lance wasn't even sure if names could hold the same power over a human or if only fae were controlled by them like that. Either way, the sight of him looking so forlorn was making Lance's gut twist. Hopefully knowing his name would make the boy feel safer. If the Queen found out Lance was still alive he was dead anyway, true name or not. Even if this boy was a bad guy, he already knew Lance was here. 

“I'm R- Keith. Wait-”

Lance couldn't help his smirk. “Did you just tell me your true name?”

He watched with interest as _Keith_ tried deny it, only succeeding in making choked noises and some furious glares. “Right, you can't lie. Why does it even matter? You can trust me, promise.”  
Keith frowned and wrapped his arms around his legs, tugging them protectively closer. Lance was struck with a thought.

“Where's Red?” At Keith's panicked expression Lance's voice pitched up sharply. “Where is he?! Is he hurt, is he _dead_?”

“He was already hurt when you last saw him,” Keith said slowly. “He's not dead. He's badly injured but he's with someone who… He trusts. Someone who can help him.”

Lance wanted to demand details of who was helping him, but he was forced to focus his attention on Keith for the time being. Stupid fae and their stupid half-truths. There was blood all over the floor and running down the punctured armour he wore. Lance would have to stop his bleeding and worry about Red later.

“Oh lord, you're bleeding something fierce. I need to get this armour off you…”

The straps were so complicated it made Lance want to scream but he persevered and managed to get the breastplate off. Underneath was a bloodstained tunic that would provide material for tourniquets at least. He pulled that off too. Keith was almost completely limp, raising his arms over his head with a dazed look to allow Lance to slip it off. Faced with his bare chest, Lance had to battle the urge to throw up. He was completely covered in lacerations - some were smooth slashes like they came from a sword, a few were distinctly teeth shaped. His whole torso was a bruised purple colour. He was leaking blood like Lance had never seen before. Many of the wounds looked deep, sinking deep into his abdomen amongst all his vital organs. He gazed helplessly at Lance up through his eyelashes and Lance blanched. Still, he had a job to do.

“Can you tell me what you feel? I need to know if any organs have been punctured,” he explained kindly. Keith was laying on his back on the straw, and Lance quickly guided his hand to a gaping cut and told him to press. With his own hands, Lance followed suit.

“I feel like a bruise,” Keith said blearily. He seemed to be in a blood-loss induced haze, making him utterly useless. Lance groaned. He couldn't even use his magic.

Forcing himself to ignore the prospect of punctured organs - it wasn't like he had the tools or expertise to deal with that anyway - he moved onto dealing with the copious amounts of blood. He ripped Keith's tunic into long strips and tied them awkwardly around his torso in an attempt to stop the bleeding while also being mindful of the chance of broken ribs.

“I hope Red’s doing better than this,” he muttered grimly.

* * *

 


	3. The one where Keith isn't a dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance discovers his strange magical talent and Red is surprisingly concerned about his wellbeing.

Keith was half asleep on the bed of straw, eyes fluttering as Lance mopped at his head with a damp rag. Lance had found a pool of rainwater collected in a dimple right on the lip of the cave, where the underside jutted out slightly more than the ceiling and caught some blessedly cool, clean water. He figured there would be water inside somewhere too, given what Red had said about underground hot springs, but he was wary to venture deeper into the caves. Even if he didn't get lost, who knew what he might run into out there? He needed water for his healing and he would've gone in there for Keith if he had to, but he was grateful that he didn't.

The worst part was that he couldn't really tell how Keith was doing. Time limits for death by different kinds of organ puncture ticked past in his mind, and that was one good sign. Some of the cuts stopped bleeding and Lance removed the bandages to wash them with water. His magic had always worked well with water, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on imbuing the water with all the healing intentions he could without releasing anything concrete enough to leave behind a signature that the Queen could sense. Even still, a few of the deeper wounds continuously soaked through the bandages no matter _what_ Lance did, until he was running out of fabric to press against them. He eyed the rock in the corner and wished he had Red’s fire on his side right now. Short of some extreme heat, he didn't know how he was going to stop the bleeding.

Keith was worryingly warm. Lance had treated dozens of fevers before, but he'd never encountered anyone quite this hot. All he could do was keep pressing rags soaked in cold water to the faery boy’s forehead and willing the sensation of coldness into it. It was lose-lose because he was so hot that if Lance didn't cool him down soon he was going to have brain damage, but also hot enough that the temperature drop required and the time it was required in would most likely send his body into shock.

“Keith?”

Keith rolled his head against the straw and his eyes fluttered open. His eyes were the same purple as Lance associated with Red - a faery thing, he assumed - though his pupils were dilated enough to swallow most of the colour. His chest rose and fell shallowly, and Lance found himself pressing a hand to the curve of Keith's throat without meaning to. It was almost hot enough to burn him, a dull pain against his palm, but he stubbornly kept it there, watching Keith tilt his chin up to allow better access. He must've thought it was a part of the healing, Lance realised, and not just Lance being _weird_. He snatched his hand away and Keith whimpered.

“Don't leave me alone,” he babbled feverishly. “I don't want to die alone…”

“You're not _going_ to die.” Lance's voice wavered and he cursed it for betraying him and steeled his tone before he continued, aware that alarming a patient could send them into shock and make things even worse. “Besides, I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere.” It wasn't like he _could_ go anywhere. Speaking of which, how the hell did Keith get up here in the first place? Magic, he assumed. He could ask about it when Keith was better, which he _would be._

Blue was lazily hopping around in the corner. She was just out of reach, but Lance had seen cute fluffy animals be great comforts before. Perhaps having a living thing to hold onto would comfort Keith out of the separation anxiety he seemed to have in his feverish state. He shot a thread of thought towards her, urging her closer. She followed the thread he sent towards Keith, hopped across his legs and settled into a crouch within his reach, but Keith barely reacted. He looked more like he wanted to pounce on her than stroke her. 

In the moments Lance's attention had wavered, Keith's hand had strayed to the most furious wound on his stomach. It came away sticky with blood that shone slickly in the dim light, even through the bandages.  
“I'm bleeding a lot,” he said dazedly.

Lance grabbed his hand and wiped the blood off it onto his own pants. “ _Shhhh_. Please just be quiet,” he begged, for his own sake as much as Keith's. “It'll be okay. I just wish I had some _god damn_ magic.” 

Keith perked up.  
“Oh, you need magic? I have magic, here,” he smiled serenely and Lance felt a reddish glow begin to envelop him. He felt safer and more loved and contented than he ever had in his mother’s arms, and that was saying something. Too many seconds passed before he realised was Keith was doing and fought it off, forcing Keith to stop.

“ _Stop_ ,” Lance hissed, “What the hell are you  _doing_?”

Keith was flopped back against the straw, a blissed-out look on his face but clearly even more exhausted than before. His fingers were scratching idly at the tame rabbit’s ears.

“You said you needed magic,” he protested weakly. His voice was so quiet and hoarse and he barely seemed to have the energy to move.

“Yeah, to use on _you_. I _have_ magic but I can't use it without your stupid queen knowing. You don't have _half_ the strength to heal yourself. Just doing whatever you did to me exhausted you!” He tried not to let his panic turn into anger and resumed his dabbing at Keith's feverish forehead, only to have Keith limply push his hand away.

“Stop that, I don't need it. You need to save the water. Who knows how long it'll be before you can get more?”

“Shut up, you're burning up with fever!” Lance protested.

“Oh, that?” Keith seemed to be attempting to shrug but he had barely any strength left in his body and raising his shoulders jostled his ribs and the shallow puncture over his heart. Thank God it didn't run too deep. “I just have a warm body temperature. I don't have a fever.”

It sounded exactly like something someone with a fever would say, but he stared relatively lucidly into Lance's eyes, forcing him to give up his mopping and discard the damp cloth. In a strange way, it made sense: Lance had never seen anyone with a fever get this hot, so it being caused by yet more obscure faery magic was almost reasonable. His slight dazedness could easily be explained by his significant blood loss. Besides, he couldn't lie. Could he say something technically false if he thought it was true in his addled state? Lance wasn't sure. 

“I don't suppose you could make it even warmer?” Lance suggested, suddenly inspired. “Maybe just your hand. You shouldn't expend any more energy but extreme heat stops the bleeding and you're bleeding so much…” Lance trailed off, not wanting to state the obvious but distressing fact that Keith was going to bleed out without intervention.

Keith's eyes sparked in recognition. “ _Cauterising,_ ” he said slowly. It reminded Lance of a small child repeating a word it had just learned and didn't quite understand. “You did it to Red,” he added at Lance's startled expression. “It helped.”

Lance felt a swell of pride at the fact that Red had mentioned Lance's healing prowess to his friends - or whatever the hell Keith was to him. Keith held his hand out and Lance watched as it began to glow red with heat and raw power. Any human hand would have shrivelled to ash but Keith's just seemed perfectly fine. His face, on the other hand, was deathly pale. Lance took him by the wrist, above the glow of heat, and guided his hand to the first weeping wound.

“Just press your hand down for a _second,_ ” he instructed, “Then let go.”

Keith turned to him with the delirious expression of someone on the edge of consciousness and pressed his hand against the wound. It came away bloody, but the wound had all but stopped bleeding. He shot Lance a proud look, like a kid showing off some clumsy scribbles, only the picture was his bloody handprint on Lance's cheek as he passed out.

Lance yelped. The pain of the burning hand that had just touched his face was numbed by his adrenaline. He had seconds before Keith's hand cooled back down into uselessness, so he shoved down the pain and the worry at his unconsciousness and held it delicately at the wrist. Even the section of his skin that wasn't superheated made Lance's hand sting with heat, admittedly less so than his face currently did. He forced his muscles to stay clamped tightly and pressed the limp hand against the other two gaping wounds on Keith's torso and the bite mark on his arm. The continuous flow of blood meant he still had a pulse, at least.

“Please stay with me,” he whispered desperately, letting Keith's rapidly cooling hand fall onto the straw once all his wounds had been sealed up with the heat. “You healed me before. I owe you my life so I'm going to return the favour, damn it. You and Red seem pretty close, too, so he'll probably kill me if you die.”

Lance flopped against the straw weakly. His body was pressed right up against Keith's battered and bloody one. The last thing he remembered was fiercely wishing Keith could somehow _take_ his energy before he blacked out.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance woke up to the sensation of being surrounded by numb warmth. He came to much more peacefully than he had the day before, memories intact and the feeling of that glowing red magic still flowing through his veins. There was a heavy exhaustion sunk deep into him, weird for existing at all when he'd just been asleep, and weird for how it felt almost _comforting_. He was completely empty, but he felt relaxed and not much else.

He was aware, however, of the dragon curled protectively around him; the grip was easily loose enough for him to wriggle free, and seemed to be more focused on protecting him from external threats than keeping him still.

“ _Red_!” he wobbled to his feet and threw his arms around the red dragon's neck. “You're okay!”

Red rumbled back wordlessly and Lance let himself sink into the relief for a few minutes before something else crossed his mind. “Where's Keith? What happened to him?” he asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

“He's okay,” Red answered. Lance had missed his strange little eye-smile - was that weird? He also noticed that Red seemed to have the same accent as Keith did, though deeper and more gravelly. He hadn't exactly heard many other fae talk, only the Queen, so he didn't have anything else to compare it to. They definitely had similar voices, though. “You saved him. You… You gave him your energy. Stupid,” Red added as an afterthought.

“I didn't know that was possible,” Lance gaped.

“Neither did I. But you managed to give him a significant amount of your life-force energy, somehow. He had more than enough energy to heal himself. You shouldn't have done that, Lance. You could've died,” he growled, tail thrashing.

“Well so could he!” Lance bit back. Red’s face fell and Lance tried to modify his tone. “Will he… Is he going to come back?”

Red eyed Lance with a mournful but curious expression. “He owes you his life. He's not ungrateful, but you have to understand, he's entirely at the Queen's mercy. He'd be here if he could.”

“Okay,” Lance said softly. He realised he still had his arms around Red’s back, face buried in his hard and unwelcoming scales, but couldn't bring himself to move. Red was gazing at some something on his face with yet another unreadable expression.

“I- he burnt you. I'm so sorry - he was delirious. I'll heal it once I'm recovered a little more, so you won't have his hand scarred into your face.” Lance realised with a start that he hadn't even thought about that, in the midst of everything. His face stung dully where Keith had burnt him, and he wondered what he must look like with an angry red handprint splashed across his cheek.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. “It wasn't your fault. It wasn't Keith's either, though. He was delirious. It doesn't really hurt.” It was hardly an issue compared to the injuries Red and Keith had sustained between them. He watched Red open his mouth to try and respond, only to close it again when nothing came out.  He was probably trying to lie to convince Lance to let Red heal him. “I'm so tired…”

Red laughed. “That can happen when you give away half your life force. Just go back to sleep,” he suggested, lowering Lance back onto his bed of straw with the help of some seriously awkward manoeuvring.

  
“Don't forget to feed Blue,” was the last thing Lance heard himself say before sleep claimed him yet again.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance spent the next two days doing very little. Just waking up and eating something felt like a struggle and required copious amounts of bullying on Red’s part. He couldn't ever remember a time he'd been so exhausted before. Sometimes he slept, sometimes he just lay there and watched Blue hopping over his legs like hurdles and listened to the sounds of the battle outside during the day, or listened to the noises of Red rustling the cave if it was night. He thought he remembered pale hands stroking his hair and worried purple eyes next to his face, but he wasn't sure if it was merely delirium.

Red was silent company for the most part; Lance wished he would talk more to divert the boredom but didn't have the energy to initiate conversation himself. On the second day, when he was a little stronger, he asked Red to light a fire and curled up beside it, noticing how the dragon seemed embarrassed and apologetic for not having thought of that sooner.

“Why didn't you hesitate when you killed that other dragon?”

Red jumped at the sound of Lance's voice carrying over the crackling of the fire for the first time in almost two days.

“You're speaking again, that's good,” he smiled. He seemed nervous but relieved, apparently not understanding Lance's question.

“The green dragon,” Lance repeated. “You killed it. But me, that girl- you'd rather kill your own species?”

Inexplicably, Red flinched. “ _Not_ my species. That was just a- a beast.” _Oh_. 

“But you're not a beast,” Lance blurted, immediately regretting it from the stricken look it caused on Red’s face. “You talk and have emotions and, y'know, you're basically like a human with, like, scales.”  
Once again, Red flinched visibly. How did Lance keep managing to say the wrong thing? He wasn't even sure what he'd said wrong, exactly, but when he looked up he saw Red looking just like he had on the first day, when Lance had called him a monster.

“It's complicated, Lance. That was just a wild animal; I'm descended from the Unseelie Queen.” He ducked his head shyly when he revealed that particular nugget of information. “It's like- it's like the difference between a normal horse and Pegasus.”

Lance tried to hide the look of disgusted curiosity on his face - and failed, if Red’s expression meant anything. The Queen was tall but she wasn't _that_ tall and besides just- _ew_. 

“But… How does  _that_ work?”

Red shook his head, not in disagreement, exactly; it was a mannerism of his that Lance had noticed. “Don't get excited. Half of court is related to her. You'll notice there's no Unseelie  _King_.” Half of his mouth curled up in a pointy approximation of a wry smile, before snapping shut like he'd just realised he had a mouth full of serrated teeth. “Poseidon had children who were horses. You might’ve noticed a lot of things don't work here the way they do in your world.”

“The talking dragon was a good clue,” Lance muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

Lance was starting to get homesick. A few days in a magical cave is just a small adventure. But as soon as the duration of his stay crept to the one week mark, he grew restless. A week was more than enough time for a messenger to get to his mother out in the country with news of his disappearance. Enough time for his friends at the castle to hold a corpseless funeral for him. It was realities like these that helped the nature of the situation sink in. He spent the whole day curled up in a sulking ball in the corner. His temper was foul and his words filled with vitriol when Red bad dared to disturb him. 

“How much longer until I can go home?” 

“Oh, he speaks,” Red snorted, not sounding any less irritated than he had an hour ago. Perhaps, in his misery, Lance had been unfair to his rescuer, and perhaps some curses had been thrown and perhaps Lance had been quite nasty about Red’s particular role in the tournament, and  _perhaps_ Lance was lucky he hadn't been rightfully incinerated for being so cruel.

“ _Listen_ , Red, uh …” Lance fiddled awkwardly with his fingers. Middle child syndrome ran deep and made apologising to anyone feel like stabbing yourself through the face. He cleared his throat, determined. “I-I'm sorry. I'm scared and I miss my friends- I miss all of humanity, honestly. I'm the only human in this crazy place and it's weird. I miss people.” It was true. He'd kill to look upon another human face right now, be it one of the stuck up squires who marched around the castle like they owned it, or that weird old lady who spoke to her cats. She was lucky King Alfor didn't seem to care for the witchhunt sweeping other parts of the world, that was for sure.

“At least you're not alone,” Red said quietly. “Being human and alone in this place is not a good thing to be.” He spoke like he knew that personally which was really quite odd, all things considered. Although, he seemed to have spent a lot of time here alone before Lance and despite obviously not being human, he was a lot closer to it than most of the fae Lance had encountered- in spirit if not in body.

“How did you end up here? You can't have been here all your life. You're not like…” he gestured towards the outside of the cave where the fae were engaging in their deadly revels in the clearing below. “You're not like them.”

Red turned around and Lance swore he physically felt walls sliding up. “Blood fealty, I told you,” he said guardedly. “I didn't grow up in court, no. The Queen does not waste her energies on every single subject until she sees if they have grown into something worth her while. I grew up away from here and I was summoned here once she decided she desired my company.”

The idea of Red growing up conjured strange images. It was bizarre to imagine him as any younger than he was now. Did he hatch from an egg? Did the Queen _lay_ an egg? Lance didn't even want to ask - it was too strange to even want to comprehend.

“How old  _are_ you?” he asked instead, his hands steepled thoughtfully under his chin as he looked at Red. It wasn't like he had any frame of reference for what other dragons looked like at different parts of their lifespan, or even how long they lived. By virtue of being a dragon, Red made it difficult to even consider. Juvenile wasn't a word that came to mind when looking at a huge, fire-breathing creature of legend, and yet… something about him didn't feel like Lance would expect from something that had been around for dozens of human lifespans.

Red’s eyes flashed in the darkness and he stubbornly refused to answer. That was the loophole in the whole not being able to lie thing - he could just say nothing. His lack of answer was suspicious, though, and he knew it; Lance just couldn't see any possible reason for his secretiveness. Maybe he really was some two hundred years old and didn't want to scare Lance?

“I guess I could ask Keith… You said he'd be back, right? Maybe I'll make him spill all your secrets,” Lance leered. “I don't know how this true name business works but maybe it's as simple as ‘Keith, tell me how old Red is’ and then I'll know anyway, so-”

“Seventeen, I'm seventeen,” Red blurted. He looked horrified. Like Lance had threatened him with a weapon and not just the prospect of asking his friend. Something in his face was small and weak and violated and Lance felt like he'd just swallowed a rock. If he'd known it meant that much, he'd have let it go. He hasn't even processed Red’s answer through his guilt. Red quickly covered up his horror with a stern rage. “This isn't a game, human. Commanding someone with their true name like that, it takes away our free will. It's-” he broke off, growling.

Lance thought back to the way he'd leapt at the girl in the ring despite his obvious reluctance. The Queen had only called him ‘runt’ then, which didn't seem like it could be his true name, but perhaps she could control him simply by virtue of knowing it. It made sense, then, that Red would be furious. He experienced that violation every day. He knew how miserable it was. He'd probably been made to kill by it before. And here was Lance, using it as leverage in what amounted to a petty game.

“I'm so sorry, I- I didn't realise. I wouldn't, I'd never…” He waved his hands around in the air for emphasis. Red was still watching him cautiously but seemed notably calmer. With the immediate issue dealt with, Lance's mind hovered back into the past. “Wait,  _seventeen_?  _I'm_ seventeen, there's no way you're seventeen, you're a dragon!”

Black smoke filled the air as Red snorted. It seemed to be his equivalent of a giggle, or so Lance thought anyway. “Well… everything has to be seventeen at some point to get to the other ages,” he protested, almost shyly. Only Red could make the voice of a dragon sound shy. “Every dragon was seventeen once. It's not that odd.”

“Wow, I actually find a dragon and I get stuck with a baby one,” Lance teased.

“I'm not a  _baby_ dragon,” Red huffed, more smoke filling the air. It was already established that Lance didn't know anything about dragon life cycles - maybe they had half a human life span and Red was positively middle aged. It would explain a lot, though, if he really was a teenager. Red saw Lance's skeptical look and growled defensively. “I'm  _not!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Could you miss someone you'd only met twice, with one of you nearly dying on both occasions? Perhaps Lance had only missed the human - or basically human - company. Either way, Keith had finally returned and Lance felt like he'd missed him.  
“Red is, like, weirdly cool for a dragon, but… It's good to see another person’s face,” he explained awkwardly, attempting to explain why he'd leapt up and exclaimed,  _“Keith! I missed you!”_ when Keith had clambered into the cave and shyly poked his head around the corner.

Red brought logs back whenever he returned from hunting and Lance kept the fire going constantly while he was out. The idea of sitting alone in darkness for hours if anything happened to Red again was a frightening one. Lance wasn't alone now, but he enjoyed the comfort of the flames nonetheless.

The fire lit Keith's face into a chorus of dramatic planes and angles, illuminating the gold circlet he'd been wearing when he arrived, now discarded on the floor. Lance had studiously ignored it when it became clear Keith wasn't going to address it. It seemed like the Queen had a lot of children, so it wasn't crazy to assume that he could be a prince.

“How do you know Red, anyway?”  
Lance didn't know if he was going crazy, if it was some kind of faery magic, or if he'd just missed human emotion so badly he fell blindly in love with the first smile he saw, but the hesitant grin that lit up Keith's face was beautiful. 

“That is a complicated question to answer, Lance,” he said cryptically, finding the notion incredibly amusing as he rested his chin on his hand and gazed into the fire. His injuries seemed to be perfectly healed, his slender arms utterly scarless. Lance wasn't sure if the surge of pride at that was rightful or not.

He groaned. “Is there anything you  _can_ tell me? Red never tells me  _anything_ and it's so boring in this cave.” Trying to think of an interesting question that he had a chance of receiving an answer to, he hummed. “Did you grow up away from court like Red did?”

Keith nodded. He opened his mouth and then closed it again with the look of someone carefully choosing their words. “I'm a changeling,” he said abruptly. Something tightened in his jaw. “Or… I was, I guess.”

Lance startled. “Like… You grew up with a human family?” he asked in shock. That must be why Keith's company felt so familiar and so distinctly different from the energy that radiated from the fae. He watched with open interest as Keith nodded, looking uncomfortable. It didn't seem like something that would be wise to press at this point, so Lance took the piece of information and stowed it for later pondering.

 

“Your rabbit doesn't like me.”  
It was true. Lance glanced up from the floor to see her shrinking away from Keith's proffered hand. She bounced over to Lance instead and sat on his folded legs, watching Keith warily. She hadn't seemed to mind him the last time; he had been dying that time and therefore much less threatening, and Lance had coaxed her with his not-quite-magic. 

“That's okay,” Lance laughed. “She doesn't like Red either.” Her nose quivered as he stroked her ears - she seemed to be looking for food in his hand, but he didn't have anything left and wouldn't until Red decided to return and go hunting.

“She's hungry,” Keith observed. How could he possibly be able to tell that? “What does she like to eat?”

Lance raised his eyebrows in surprise at the astute observation. “Um, mostly blackberries?”

“Blackberries,” Keith repeated. Suddenly, his palm was glowing the same red that coloured his and his dragon friend's magic. “Here.” He offered both a tiny blackberry tree and a toothy grin. His canines, like his ears, were slightly sharper than human ones. The effect was feline and almost cute. The ‘almost’ was there for the sake of Lance's sanity, though his true thoughts might’ve been closer to something like ‘incredibly’.

“Oh,  _wow_!” He clapped his hands together like a child receiving a much better gift than a common hedgerow plant. “That's amazing. I can't believe you can do that!  You'll have to show me how to do all this when we get out of here and I can use my magic again.”

Keith shot him a piercing, sad look. “I hope so,” he agreed, righting his face back into a smile. Lance wondered what had caused such sadness to rip through him so briefly, but didn't have a chance to address it because this time Keith was convulsing with genuine  _pain_. His cry shredded right through Lance's heart as he yelped, “I need to go.”

Lance tried to hold onto him, lay him back on the fresh bed of straw that Red had replaced after the last time Keith had bled all over it.

“Wait! Are you hurt? Let me help!”

  
“I'm not hurt," Keith insisted. Due purely to the fact that he couldn't lie, Lance was forced to trust him. Keith wriggled out of Lance's grip and ran for the exit of the cave. Lance couldn't even say goodbye or ask where he was going before the dark-haired boy was plunging into the darkness.

* * *

 


	4. The one where Keith gets in trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith upsets The Queen and Red goes AWOL.

Lance waited all night for Red to return. Panic faded gradually as he didn't appear, completely replaced with numbness by the time the sun rose. Lance's stomach grumbled so loud he worried it would drown out the sound of the horn calling for the day’s battles to commence. Even Blue looked miserable, having devoured every inch of the small blackberry plant Keith had left behind. Only its spiky stem remained.  
“You could’ve left some for me,” he muttered reproachfully.

 

By the time the horn really did sound, Lance was already at the window watching eagerly in the hopes that Red would appear. It would be nice to at least see Keith, to know he wasn't utterly alone if something _had_ happened to Red. After Keith's mysterious exit last night, Lance would be worried about him too if his entire panic capacity wasn't spent on worrying about Red. Keith must have some kind of flight magic if he'd been able to get in and out of the cave by himself, which meant he couldn't really have plummeted to his death on the rocks last night. Lance couldn't afford to worry about him, too.

His breath caught in his throat as Keith appeared in the ring below with his hands shackled together and his head down, the golden circlet sitting amongst his black hair in perverse contrast to the cuffs. At the sight of him, the Queen scowled and rose to her feet. The atmosphere became suddenly hushed and shocked as the crowd waited for the her to speak.

“The little prince has been very ungrateful to me, after all I've done for him,” she announced. Her voice wasn't especially loud but Lance had a feeling the whole arena could hear her anyway. “Since you don't want my  _gift_ , boy, I will gladly take it back, and you can see how much you enjoy fighting without it.”

She held out her hand and he fell to his knees with his cheek pressed to the dirt. Lance had a feeling it wasn't a voluntary action. Her clawed finger curled towards her, beckoning, and he crawled towards his queen, desperate as a moth to a flame. His feet were chained together too, Lance realised; it made for a doubly pathetic display as he dragged himself across the dirt, a picture that clearly delighted the Queen. Lance remembered Red’s fiery rage at Lance's accidental betrayal of Keith's true name and wondered how he would feel about what was going on below them.

Speaking of Red - where _was_ he? It surely wasn't that easy to hide a dragon - and yet, Lance _had_ seen swarms of other equally large beasts parading in and out of the arena, never to be seen again. Not to mention the clearing itself, which he'd never seen or heard of before despite spending his whole life right beside it. He told himself that Red could easily still be alive and well, though he prayed the dragon wasn't watching right now, wanting him to be spared the same distress the human was feeling as he watched the sickening events unfolding below.

 

Keith reached the Queen's feet and tried to kneel, but his legs gave out and left him slumped before her. Wordlessly, she had the girl currently residing beside her go to him and support his body so that he was awkwardly held in an upright kneeling position.

Lance had seen Red when under the Queen’s compulsion before - the fire burning in his eyes as his face contorted with rage even as his body moved as she commanded. Meanwhile, Keith just looked resigned. There was a scowl of pain in his features too, twisting Lance's internal organs up in a concoction of fear and helpless misery.

“Is that what you want, little red?” she asked, her voice a mockery of kindness as she cupped his face between her thumb and forefinger, squeezing tight enough to leave marks.  Something growled in the darkness behind them where the participants in the tournament would usually emerge from, its earthshaking snarl drowning out the part of Lance's brain that remembered her calling Red that very same nickname.

Lance recognised Keith's expression from his own time on patrol, when a wild animal leapt from the shadows and he would tremble down to his toes with fear but never give one of this pesky squires the satisfaction of knowing he was afraid. Keith bared his teeth at her for only a second before he gave in, cowering and shaking his head. Whatever was growling like that, neither he nor Lance wanted for him to have to fight it, especially not without whatever mysterious protection the Queen was talking about.

“Very well,” she leered, releasing her grip on his face and beckoning her companion back to her side so he crashed back into the dirt. “I doubt this pretty face will be seeing the light of day for some time, after this. Perhaps this will be a lesson to you; don't you _dare_ question me ever again, because I wouldn't hesitate to destroy you, my little champion.” She sighed wearily and leaned back against her throne. “You're good entertainment, but you are still _only_ entertainment. And I'm in need of some entertainment after all this trouble. Get out of my sight.”

She waved her hand carelessly towards him and dark purple light began to surround Keith like it was going to devour him. Lance gripped the cave wall hard enough to turn his knuckles white as Keith let out a pained scream, but he was dragged away by his cuffed hands before Lance could find out what she'd done to him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance had never felt so drained. After the sequence of monstrosities he'd already witnessed that day, he had no room left in his head or heart for any more thoughts at all. He'd watched Keith dragged off in agony to places unknown; Lance remembered miserably how the Queen had said he wouldn't see the light of day for some time.

After that had been a couple of meaningless battles that passed by Lance in a blur, only watching because his legs were too numb to move. Then Red had appeared again and his knees gave out under him in relief for a few moments. By the time he managed to scramble back to his feet, Red had a thick leather collar around his neck, attached to a band made of some kind of black metal that encircled his jaw, forcing it shut. He saw the need for the collar when Red scratched at the band with his claws and failed to slide it off because of the taut chains connecting it to his neck. The Queen laughed at his furious growl.

“Oh, what an appropriate punishment,” she cooed to herself. “I quite like to see that troublesome mouth kept shut.”

Without warning, Lance was overcome with a poisonous, bubbling hatred. He'd been angry before at many things, especially since he'd been in this cursed clearing - he'd certainly been disgusted. But never had he been so consumed by such intense and specific hatred. He, who had cried over the (near) death of a rabbit, felt a deep certainty inside himself that he would be nothing but glad if Red leapt forward and tore her head clean off at this very moment. He was also quite sure that the ring of metal was an unnecessary humiliation: The Queen knew Red’s name and possessed bountiful magic besides. If she wanted his mouth kept shut, she could easily make it so without the need for such basic apparatus.

It was concerning. Red usual fought with his teeth, snapping at the ankles of his foes like a vicious little terrier. It wasn't like he could wield a sword. For the first time since he'd witnessed Red’s first fight and realised how capable the dragon was against much larger enemies, Lance felt a stab of fear for him.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Red, what has she _done_ to you!” Lance cried when Red slunk through the mouth of the cave with his tail between his legs and that horrible collar still fastened around his neck and face. The silenced dragon only ducked his head miserably. With the agility and reach of his human hands, Lance had the collar undone in a few seconds and Red shook his head powerfully until the ring flew off and clattered against the rock. Lance immediately threw his arms around Red’s neck and was surprised when Red only tensed and didn't growl or shove him off. The reunion was only short because Lance's arms got tired and Red’s scales were scratchy on his face.

“Did you break the- the muzzle? I need to keep it so she doesn't know that I had help. It's enchanted against removing it with magic,” he grimaced, “I checked.”

“I thought you were _dead_! Don't I get a hello?”

Red’s tail swished across the floor, almost loud enough to drown out the little concerned noise he made. “Right. Sorry about that… I'd planned on Keith being able to stay so you weren't alone.”

 _Keith_. “Is Keith okay?” Lance saw Red’s expression tighten at the mention of the faery. That can't have been a good sign for his wellbeing. “I saw him getting dragged away. The Queen said he wouldn't see the light of day… did she imprison him somewhere?”

Red looked profoundly miserable. “In a manner of speaking. He's not hurt but it's…”  
Lance wished Red would finish that sentence. There seemed to be a lot of worse things to be around here than physically injured. He really hoped Keith wasn't experiencing one or more of them right now. What could he even have done to trigger such a punishment?

“ _Ow_. Maybe I am hurt, after all.” Red’s voice snapped Lance out of his worry. Typical, Red had probably been telling himself he was unhurt and only realised his mistake aloud when he took another step and his leg nearly gave out beneath him.

He looked reproachfully at the limb that had betrayed him and reluctantly settled down into a circular heap on the floor. Despite his reluctance to heal himself, he was already being made to fight with only his claws. He couldn't afford to have one of his legs out of action. Sparks fluttered around him and Lance instinctively knelt beside him, hand pressed to his flank. He tried to think healing thoughts. Usually that only worked on physical things like herbs to increase their potency, but he'd managed to give Keith his energy before and neither of them had considered that being possible.

“Oh.” Red hummed, testing his previously injured leg and finding it to be good. “Strange, I'm not tired at all.”

Lance couldn't say the same for himself, but it was nothing compared to the exhaustion of the last time he did this, that made his bones feel like lead. Hiding the evidence of what he'd done, he snatched his hand away from Red’s side before he figured out what Lance had given him. Lance felt a surge of pride. If he made it out of here alive, he was going to be the best mage. He forced his attention away from, well, himself, and noticed the little blue scale where his hand had just rested with a stifled gasp. It would never have been noticeable if his eyes hadn't been focused there, one blue scale amongst ten thousand red ones. He just hoped that whatever had changed its colour wasn't evident to the Queen.

 

“You fought amazingly today, even without, like-”

“I know you meant that kindly,” Red snapped, “But it isn't a compliment.” He lay down beside the fire Lance had dutifully kept alive. Despite his already impossibly high body temperature, he seemed drawn to the flames. He always looked like a dog when he lay like that, with his head resting on his forelegs, and it made Lance want to laugh at him.  
“I wish I didn't know how to fight,” he added quietly.

“Oh. I just- I saw you chained up and I thought you were going to die. I saw you with your mouth restrained and I didn't think I would ever see you alive again. I'm just glad you're alive. Next time I'll just say that. Not that I want there to be a next time, I just meant that I'd learned my lesson,” Lance rambled apologetically.  
“It's okay. After all, there will be a next time.” His gaze flickered to the discarded muzzle on the floor of the cave as smoke billowed from his nostrils, betraying his otherwise calm facade. “That's for sure.”

* * *

 


	5. The one with... Pidge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith go through a lot of changes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they talk in quite a modern way despite the medieval au so suspend your disbelief! (p.s. For all of our enjoyment, I usually skip over fight scenes!

Curled up by the fire, heating up the remains of last night's dinner on a long stick, Lance had the odd realisation that he didn't really mind the cave anymore. Sure, it was kind of dark and he didn't love being left alone for most of the daylight hours, but he'd grown fond of Red - and Keith's - company and settled into his rudimentary accommodation quite well.  
This realisation was accompanied by a second thought, of the fact that he would probably never see either one of them again once he went home. He wasn't even sure what they did when they weren't forced to be in attendance at the Tournament. Were either of them also compelled to attend court the rest of the time? Or perhaps this _was_ the court and they were simply free to wander the Earth when they were disbanded from this place: Legend told of a pact between the Seelie and Unseelie courts, each dominating their realm for half of the year. Was this their domain, or simply how they spent the other half of the year, waiting for their time?

Either way, it wasn't like he could just meet Red at the local tavern. Keith was simpler logistically, but it was likely his visits would put Lance in danger from the Queen. He spoke about the human world with regret and something dark undercutting his voice so perhaps wouldn't even want to return, or perhaps he was bound here and couldn't physically leave.  
He'd worked himself into a silent frenzy by the time Red roused himself and lifted his head in the air. The sun was already high in the sky, though Lance had noticed the fae usually tended to rise late.

“I need to get that contraption back on before I'm summoned,” he said, still groggy with sleep. It hurt Lance to catch the way his face twisted under all the scales and he felt another blaze of fury. Since learning of the dragon's age, every act of cruelty felt even more severe. Like the difference between poking an old scar and a fresh wound: it was one thing if Red was already ancient and cold, withered by years of servitude, but for all this burden to be on the shoulders of something - someone? - who wasn't even an adult felt twice as sickening.

He rose from the ground in one agile movement, walking over towards the collar and lifting it gingerly in his teeth. It was heavy when he dropped it in Lance's arms, docilely bowing his neck. When Lance stumbled under its weight, he found Red nudging at his legs to keep him from falling over. A thankful smile on his lips, he reached around the dragon's neck to replace the horrible thing. The collar fit tightly around his neck, more tightly than Lance was at all comfortable with fastening it, though it was far better than the alternative, alerting The Queen to his presence. His hands shook as he slid the metal band around the dragon's jaw, having to press hard against it to slide it far enough down that it was secure. He eyed his handiwork mournfully and patted Red’s jaw with a trembling hand, tears brimming in his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, wiping his eyes embarrassedly. Red could only nod.

 

 

“What do we have here, my little prince?”

Lance's whole body went cold. He wanted so badly to turn towards the source of that voice, but his whole body was frozen rigid. Beneath his hand, Red’s body was similarly taut. His body was in the grips of a fight-or-flight reaction, though they both knew he would not be permitted to do either of those things by the woman who held his very free will in her clawed hands. Her footsteps echoed against the stone walls as she stepped close to where Lance was pressed against Red, her gaze landing on him with open curiosity.

“A little pet? You chose a pretty one,” she purred. “I could just eat him right up.”

Red couldn't speak over the hateful clamp around his mouth, but he was growling furiously in the back of his throat, his eyes following her as she curled her fingers in Lance's hair. His hackles rose, spikes along his back and the crest on his his forehead puffing up defensively, and he crouched like he was preparing to pounce. Faced with a creature maybe ten times her size, the Queen nonchalantly waggled a finger at him.

“Uh-uh, down boy,” she chided. Her glee at the way Red rolled onto his back with his throat bared submissively made Lance wanted to kill something. And by something, he meant her specifically.

“Does the pretty one talk?” she asked no-one in particular, bending unnaturally at the knees to pat Red’s muzzle condescendingly. Lance could feel himself shaking, his attempts to try and quell it feeling futile, his tongue heavy and dry. Something in him was drawn hypnotically to her, wanting to fall on his knees before her. It was a struggle not to answer her question, though he couldn't really see what good it would do. “No?” she sighed dramatically. “That's a shame. This would be much more fun if there was a little kicking and screaming going on. I almost wish the runt wasn't muzzled so I could hear him. He can be very amusing when he's enraged.”

Lance was growing to hate the unnatural calmness that always remained in her voice no matter what she said. She spoke about Red like a mother spoke about her cute but troublesome child, the only difference laying in the meaning of her words.

Sighing like it was a great chore, she reached out her hand to Lance. It crackled and spat with purple lightning, the last thing he saw before unconsciousness washed over him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance woke up in another unfamiliar room. He wondered when the cave had become familiar to him and not just as threatening as wherever he was now.  
A groggy rumble tore itself from his mouth, feeling gruff and low in his throat. Every part of his body felt unfamiliar and wrong. _At least I'm still alive,_  he thought cheerfully, trying to clear his throat of whatever was causing his voice to feel so scratchy and deep. His eyes fluttered open fully and he took in his surroundings: a small room that appeared to be carved into the dirt. Light filtered in from a staircase above him, cut off by a rippling wall of solid magic that he knew better than to attempt to cross. A prison, then.

His head pounded and he felt like he'd been taken and stretched in opposite directions for a few hours. He wondered where Red was. Being in an underground Unseelie prison in the middle of their grisly death games certainly felt like a very bad omen for his own longevity, but Red definitely had a chance to survive the Queen’s wrath. Lance knew enough of her understand that she valued amusement over everything else, and had a very perverse sense of humour. Hopefully, if Red could amuse her enough, he would live.

“You're awake!” cried a small voice at his side. He twisted his head, feeling heavy. It was Keith. Despite only being here a day, he must've lost weight down here in the prison; he looked tiny. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…”  
Lance startled at the sensation of arms being thrown around his neck. They felt impossibly small and weak. He was struck with the sudden realisation that he could probably snap them with ease. _Woah, where did that come from?_

“Keith…” he grunted, head spinning. His voice still felt wrong on his tongue, probably from his dry throat and having been unconscious. “Where’m I? ‘S Red?”

Keith was still gazing at him with an expression of thinly veiled horror.

“Why do you look like that?” Lance asked nervously. “Do I have something on my face? Did I get hurt?” The image of a malicious smile and elongated fingers flashed in his mind. “Did the Queen do something?”

“Uh, in a manner of speaking..?”

“Hey, stop trying to avoid the truth!” Lance accused.

“I'm _not_ ,” Keith protested. “It's just kind of a difficult question to answer.” He didn't get a chance to elaborate because an all too familiar laugh rang out in the underground chamber.

 

“Oh, what a lovely colour!” The Queen’s bare feet thudded against the stone steps as though she was made of steel. She had someone else with her this time, a greenish creature who looked as though it had grown from the earth like a vegetable. “Now I have such a _darling_ matching set. I'd love to see them together,” she cooed to the sentient vegetation beside her. “Though there's not much room for two dragons in that small cell. Goraz, find me a bigger cell for these two, please.” The vegetable nodded at her command and scurried off, followed by The Queen after she'd cast her eyes over Lance once more with a satisfied noise.

As he finally completed the jigsaw of clues, Lance would definitely have fallen if he wasn't already laying down. Looking down, he saw deep blue scales, clawed feet. He twisted his head to look behind him and his vision blurred over a kaleidoscope of scales and spikes and a long, barbed tail. He heard a very undragonly whimper coming out of his own mouth before he fainted from shock.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking from unconsciousness in an unfamiliar room was becoming old hat. This time, it was Red sitting upright in the new cell, watching over Lance like a guard dog with Keith nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Keith?” was the first thing on his tongue, worriedly casting around in case he was there after all, nestled in the shadows somewhere. For the first time, Lance resented the new bonds he'd formed, wishing for the simplicity of his friends back at the castle. Suddenly, Keith was nothing but another liability, another person to have to worry about every time he woke up in a new prison without Keith or Red or both. Being afraid for his own safely was enough of a burden. He was sick of worrying about them too. Of course, this internal tantrum did nothing to quell the tide of panic for his friend.

Red looked down at Lance, startled out of his daze by the sound of the blue dragon's voice. Dragon. A shudder ran unprovoked through Lance's shoulders at the very thought. Red’s face was slack with an expression of shock, though there was really too much humour in the crinkle of his eyes, given the current circumstances. It seemed to be Lance's words, not his newfound appearance, that surprised him.

“Really? Wow, then you actually _are_ a stupid human.”

“That is an incredibly unfortunate word choice,” Lance complained, clambering unsteadily to his feet. Surprisingly, it was harder to balance on four legs than two. There was an unexpected weight on his back, what he assumed were folded wings, making it even more difficult to stay in equilibrium. Red sobered, amusement wilting on his face as he stared at Lance and sighed. Lance was pleased to note that he was the bigger of the two of them, a very small silver lining to the whole affair. “Please tell me this isn't permanent,” he whimpered.

Red shook his head. Filled with a newfound appreciation for the other dragon's agility, Lance watched his graceful movements with envy, watching the spread of his tail to keep his balance as he stretched his neck outward. Meanwhile, Lance was struggling just to remain upright. “From my limited personal experience I would say no, it's not,”  Red said tightly. He shut his eyes, looking sad.

“What do you mean, your _personal experience_?” Lance narrowed his eyes. “What personal experience do you have with being turned into a dragon? You said you'd always been like this. Or at least, I think you said that. Besides, I've never seen you turn into anything else, and you just said this magic _isn't_ permanent. Dear God, I hope it doesn't last long. I am not enjoying this.”

“Lance, listen, we don't really have time,” Red interrupted, sounding harassed. “She doesn't know your name yet, so you aren't completely damned. It can't be coerced from me, it has to be shared freely. Well, sort of. She can trick you and manipulate you and blackmail you for it. So make sure you're on your guard at all times. No matter what she says.”

“Red, it doesn't matter. I'm dead anyway. What, you think I just keep it a secret and eventually she lets me go? I was dead the second I wandered into this godforsaken clearing. I… I'm really grateful to you for how much you've done for me, but it's over. Just make sure you survive this for me, okay?” Lance felt his eyes misting up and shook his head to clear it, almost losing his balance in the process. Red looked like his heart had just been shattered. He spoke so earnestly, desperate to protect Lance despite his obvious death sentence, but Lance stating the reality so bluntly had upset him more than Lance thought possible. Too overcome with despair to say whatever he was trying to get out, he made miserable, strangled sound instead.

“She can make you do things that'll make you wish you were dead. Don't let her get it, no matter what. If it's death or your name, you choose death.” As the red dragon curled into a tight, brooding ball on the floor, Lance knew with certainty that Red really was speaking from experience this time. The thought filled him with a dizzying whirlwind of anger and sadness so that he was partially swaying as he walked over to Red’s pathetic heap with the intention of joining him on the floor. It was strange, suddenly being larger than his dragon companion. Used to being the small and physically vulnerable one, he was suddenly overcome with the urge to protect the small dragon.

“How did she know?” he asked as he settled on the ground beside Red. It was a thought that had slipped his mind in the ensuing and repeated chaos. He'd probably never forgive himself if he got them both into all this trouble by being careless with his magic. “Ugh, this is harder than it looks.” The aim had been to settle down with a comfortable but companionable distance between them; instead he barely managed to avoid crushing Red as he fell, and ended up leaving only inches between them. He prepared to back away but Red stopped him, lifting his head and resting it on Lance's flank.

“She enchanted the collar,” he explained neutrally. His wide-eyed gaze lingered on the motor skills catastrophe that was Lance, as though unsure whether to laugh or not. “She must've already had suspicions, somehow, so she enchanted the collar so that she'd know if it was undone.”

Lance felt sick, a knot of guilt settling in his abdomen. “I shouldn't have messed with it. I'm so sorry, Red...”

“No, it's my fault.” Red sighed, shuffling on the jagged rock floor.

 

 

“How _sweet_.”

 

Lance's head snapped up and he found himself growling, curving his tail protectively around Red, whose smaller body had gone tense and still.

“What have you done with Keith? Where is he?” he snarled.

Unexpectedly, she laughed. As she threw her head back and cackled openly, Red went still, wide-eyed and panicked beside him. Her hand snaked lazily through the barrier of her own magic as though it wasn't there, cupping the little red dragon's face as Lance had seen her do many times. This time, she turned it towards Lance like a farmer at the market demonstrating his prize sheep.

 

“I haven't done anything, pretty one,” she smirked. “He's right here.” She laughed openly once more, petting Lance's head and stepping deftly back behind the barrier just before his teeth could close her ankle. She clapped her hands together like a child at Christmas. “It's nice to see that you can speak. I like it when they're noisy. Come along now, it's time for the show.”

 

* * *

 

Red - _Keith_ , Lance remembered numbly - was waiting when Lance returned.

It took multiple guards to wrestle the thick collar back onto him, attached to four metal chains that four of them used to tug him back into the underground prison. Lance wasn't quite sure why he resisted - even if he managed to take out four guards, more would come until he was subdued. Say he did escape, would he just fly out back towards civilisation and hope he wasn't killed by knights or a horde of scared farmers?

Not resisting felt wrong though, so he squirmed and kicked out as best he could, scoring a few more injuries in the process. By the time he returned he was bloody and exhausted, docile as the collar was removed and he was forced back into the cell.

 

The little procession was followed by a faery with pointed ears and short hair. Lance recognised her as the one who’d sat by the Queen’s side during the fight, whispering constantly. He didn't notice her following at first, until they stepped back into the underground chapter and she was still walking behind them. She waited discreetly out of the way as the guards left, nodding to them. Lance wasn't keen to trust any strangers in this place, but he definitely didn't get the very intense evil vibes from her that came from the Queen. It didn't particularly seem like she was here to help either, especially considering how familiar she was with the guards.

“I think I like this one, little red. He fights good,” the girl beamed, scratching Keith's nose with her blunt nails in a way that almost seemed affectionate. The red dragon pulled his face out of her grip and skulked away to curl up in the corner, ignoring her.

“Don't be so rude. I saved your little pet, didn't I?” She flipped her short hair, sighing. She wasn't dressed like most of the faery girls Lance had seen so far, who favoured long locks and loose fabric and bare feet. Instead of succumbing to their contradictory aesthetic of naivety and seduction, she was wearing a simple fabric robe and practical footwear.

“He's not a pet _,_ ” Red rumbled. Keith, technically. Lance's brain hurt, and he longed for this faery visitor to leave so he could find out what on Earth was going _on_ … and then give both Keith-slash-Red a piece of his mind.

She snorted. “What is he, then? A _friend_? There's a first time for everything I suppose. Whatever he is, I put my neck on the line for him, so you owe me.” With that she turned on her heel and left, her thick, metal-soled boots clanging loudly and filling the chamber with echoes.

“Who the hell was that!” Lance exclaimed as soon as she was gone. His brain was boiling over with questions, so he decided to work in backwards chronological order until he had maybe a small grip on some semblance of whatever his reality was right now.

“Oh, that? She's just my sister, Pidge.”

Lance had heard the Queen call Pidge ‘daughter’ when she'd sat beside her during the fight. It stood to reason then, that they were related. Keith had only previously admitted to being descended from the Queen to some extent; Lance had slowly been putting together the pieces and realised in this moment that Keith was the son of the Unseelie Queen who tortured him so.

“Your sister?” Lance repeated. “So you really are her son...” Her only son, if the swarms of girls who alternated accompanying the monarch were any indication, with Keith the only other to have taken the seat.

Keith shrugged. “I told you, she has hundreds and hundreds of offspring. Pidge and I share a father, too, so we have some kind of… Alliance would be too strong a word really.” He sighed, still determinedly avoiding Lance's eyes in his corner of the cell. Lance watched him frown the way he did when he was deciding how much information to share - something he did for basically every question Lance asked. “We’re both children of the Seelie King, which makes us prime assets for both internal rebellions and any Seelie attempts at invasion. The Queen had to keep us away from either of those if she wanted her throne to be secure, which is why I was sent to your world and raised as a changeling.”

The set of his shoulders changed, revealing fresh pain at that fact. Lance wondered how long ago he'd been taken back to this world, if he was only seventeen and had clearly lived in the human realm for no small percentage of his life.  
“Then my father found out where I was and started sending messengers. As my mother,” he shuddered at the notion of his parentage, or perhaps the very mention of her at all, “The Queen claimed ownership of me first and foremost and called me back here to keep me away from them.”

 

“I still can't believe you're Keith. I mean, I can totally believe it - you're way too similar and there's mountains of glaringly obvious evidence. But I can't- it's hard to get used to," Lance said softly. Fighting for his life for two hours or so had lent him a much better control of his legs, enough to inch up beside Keith and sit down beside him. “You don't need to apologise, I understand why you didn't want to tell me. It's just very, very weird. I mean, I get how it feels now.” He looked down at himself pointedly, understanding all of Red’s previous discomfort and adverse reactions to seemingly innocuous things. “Oh, also, did you know I can breathe ice? Is that normal?”

“Normal,” Keith said slowly, like he'd never heard the word before. He continued incredulously, “Are you asking me what's _normal_ right now?”  
Lance just shrugged, leaning over Keith's body so he could see his face better, despite his attempts to try to hide himself from view.

 

“Oh no! Blue is all alone in the cave, Keith,” Lance whined, struck by the sudden realisation that they'd left her behind. After escaping death once, she'd been abandoned in a cave with very little water and only the moss on the walls for food. Lance comforted himself with the notion that she could survive for a week or so, hopefully long enough for Keith to be released from his punishment and return her to the wild.

“ _You_ … You amaze me, Lance. With everything that's happening and you're worried about a _rabbit_? I'll send Pidge to get her if it would make you feel better.” He finally uncurled enough to turn and give Lance a once-over, taking in his injuries. “You're hurt, idiot. Tell me what happened out there? I could hear a little from down here, but it was hard to tell what was happening.” He ducked his head shyly. “I was so afraid. If I never saw you again, that wasn't how I wanted to say goodbye.”

Lance rested his head against the floor, explaining how grateful he'd been when he saw his opponent wasn't remotely humanoid but was a huge crablike thing with armor that gave him a cramp in his jaw when he finally bit through it. He'd tasted its blood in his mouth and the shock delayed him long enough for it to get a nip to his hind leg.

When it finally died and he breathed a sigh of relief, two more were released. The main difficulty in this second battle was keeping track of the two opponents at once. He couldn't land a prolonged attack on one without being vulnerable to attacks by the other one. He was only saved when he had the idea to try to breathe fire like Red. Instead, he encased the first crab in ice, which left him with enough time to finish the other one off.

Keith listened quietly, aside from little sharp intakes of breath whenever Lance described being hurt.

“This cut on your back leg is deep,” he said anxiously. “Should I burn it?”

Lance flinched away. “No! You can't just _breathe fire_ at my leg without, well, some human hands to help. Just, just hope it doesn't bleed a lot, or something.” He frowned. “I'll be fine, just- agh! What the hell is- oh, good idea.” He startled at the tickling feeling, craning his head to see Keith licking the wound clean. It was actually the best idea in the circumstances, and he could really use that natural painkiller in saliva right now, gross at it was to think about.

He talked to fill the silence as Keith groomed his injuries with a careful, shy attentiveness. Blabbered about his family and his friends back at the castle and the spells he was working on with Coran, some of which Keith laughed at the simplicity of and others he seemed impressed by. There were occasional flashes of pain as Keith gently tugged out a piece of gravel or a broken scale that needed to be removed. Each time he made a noise of pain, however small, Keith would pull away and examine his face carefully to make sure he was okay before continuing. Lance found himself thinking about the returning changeling all alone in a foreign world when he first arrived here, with no-one to ask when he didn't understand what was going on, nothing so much as a security blanket.  
“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“This is my second tournament.” Keith's voice was muffled. “So about a year. I-” Lance cut him off with a pained screech.

“Lance? What's wrong?” He was immediately on his feet, standing over Lance with a concerned expression he could barely make out through his blurred vision. “Did I hurt you? Is it your wounds?” Lance managed to muster the strength through the pain to shake his head.

Comprehension dawned on Keith's face. “ _Oh_. It's the change back.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, isn't that adorable?”

Lance looked up at the sound of a voice breaking through his semi-unconsciousness. Everything was blurred and spinning and hard to make out through the pain. All he could feel for certain was Keith's comforting presence, half on top of him and half around him. He was aware that the Queen must be somewhere in the room, but he couldn't quite see her through the spinning.

 _Breathe,_  he told himself, the same way he'd seen Coran dealing with people who were severely wounded; knights returning with significant holes in them, bearing an amount of pain Lance couldn't even comprehend. Until now, anyway.

“ _Aww_! They're like little cubs,” agreed another voice, high-pitched and with half the cruel edge to it of the Queen - which was still a lot of cruelty. They both laughed when Lance let out another pained shriek, Keith curling even tighter around him and growling protectively.

“Get away from him,” Keith warned, hissing and spitting like an alley cat with kittens. “You're hurting him.”

The Queen hummed airily, nonplussed. “Well he better get used to it. It's good to keep the audience on their toes, show them a good variety of entertainment.” The sound of footsteps rang out as she and her companion drew closer, stepping into the narrow circle of Lance's vision from where he was slumped on the ground. The Queen beckoned to the girl, an inhumanly tall redhead with leafy protrusions sprouting from her cheekbones. She was hesitating, eyeing Keith warily.

“Oh, he won't hurt you,” the Queen purred, “Will you, little one?” She opened the barrier of magic wide enough for the both of them to step through.  
“You know, I really thought you were embracing your birthright. When you asked to take this one back by yourself, I thought you'd finally started to abandon your silly human habits. But  _no_ , I can't have anything nice.” She sighed. “That's what you get for sending your only son to live with humans. I should've kept you here with your sister. She turned out  _much_ better.”

 

“Can I stroke them?” asked the girl, as though she was talking to a farmer whose dog had had puppies, not the Queen of the Unseelie court about two large dragons.

The Queen waved her hand permissively. “He's harmless,” she pointed at Red, who snarled, “Wouldn't even kill the human. I had to force him to put his claws in your sister. That was a good fight, such a shame you missed it.” She sighed dreamily, leaning against the wall as her daughter crouched down to prod at Red. Lance wanted to get rid of her, hated the way they treated Keith, but he could hardly think through his pain, let alone move.  
“Watch the blue one, he bites. I should think he's in too much pain right now, but caution never hurt anyone.”

Lance made a sound that was half in pain, half in anger and flicked his tail. He just wanted her to leave them _alone._  Keith's utter helplessness at her hands, combined with the Queen's dangerous unpredictability, made him anxious and edgy, and Keith was clearly just as stressed by the crowding and Lance's current state. Tense against Lance's side, he looked like he wanted to bite the girl's hand off when she touched him. Though she hadn't verbally commanded anything, it seemed liked the Queen was restraining him somehow.

In an effort to ignore the pain, Lance wondered idly how long this whole transformation business was going to take. On the one hand, he was desperate just to be able to look down and see his human body again, and be able to move with ease. On the other, it dramatically reduced his ability to protect himself and Red, who had no way of defending himself against the Queen despite his stature.

Would he end up naked? The thought would've made him laugh if not for the fact that there would be no way to cover up his modesty in front of all the faeries the Queen routinely paraded through here, and worse,  _Keith_. Lance had comfortably taken his shirt off in front of Red, before he knew who he really was. Just the memory made his face burn, now that he knew it had been the beautiful, dark-eyed eyed faery in there, watching Lance stroll around essentially shirtless after he used the rags as wound dressings.

 

“Come along, child,” the Queen said after a while, dragging her daughter up by the collar. “We don't want to be here while he changes. I suspended it so you could meet them, but he may get violent while he's shifting form.”

 

 _Violent_ , Lance thought grimly.  _Awesome_.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You don't have to look so worried,” Lance groaned. He was sure he'd passed in and out of consciousness more times than was strictly healthy in the last few minutes but he was gradually becoming so acclimatised to the pain that he could avoid blacking out every few moments. “How long does this thing usually last?”

Red was right up at the side of the cage closest to the barrier, his nose in danger of touching it. In profile, he looked angrier than Lance had ever seen him, twisting with boiling rage under all those scales. His face wasn't the most naturally expressive but he utilised it well. Lance wondered how he'd never noticed the similarities between Red and Keith besides their eye colour - that scowl they both pulled whenever Lance suggested healing their injuries should've been instantly recognisable. He was scowling much like that now, but not directed at Lance, unlike the worried glances he kept shooting, as though he thought the human hadn't noticed.

“Should we talk about this Red-Keith business?” Lance tried meekly; anything to distract from the pained moans he couldn't help but keep making, each one making Red-slash-Keith flinch like he'd been stabbed.

It was almost impossible to reconcile the grumpy dragon before him with the diminutive, also grumpy, faery boy he knew. Behaviourally, they were much the same, but they  _looked_ so incredibly different that Lance was having a hard time referring to Red as Keith in his head. He wondered if it was as hard for Keith now that Lance was in much the same predicament. Healthy communication, he figured, was the best way to deal with this mess. Unfortunately, Red was  _not_ keen on healthy communication, as shown by his actions up until this point. Lance couldn't really blame him, given his family background.

“Concentrate on not dying,” Red snapped, flinching when Lance cowered from his sudden outburst. Then more softly, “Sorry, I'm just. I'm just worried.” He seemed hesitant to admit it, but he had just spent the last year in this place, where every human (or non human, as the case may be) emotion was a weakness, a vulnerability that was bound to be exploited. That's what Lance was - a weakness, a lovely little loophole for anyone looking to hurt Keith.

“You're always so grumpy when you're panicking,” Lance mumble-laughed from the floor, cut off by another moan. “Seriously, how long is this going to take?” He gasped, writhing in pain as another sharp shock shot through his left leg. The thud of his tail slamming into the ground, hard, was enough to send Red trotting over.

“I don't know. You only physically change for a minute, maximum, but it could be taking your body some time to prepare. Humans aren't  _made_ for this kind of thing.” He hovered over Lance anxiously, unsure of where to go to or how to help. Lance could see it upsetting him, his uselessness, and tried to think of some kind of menial task to give him as a comfort. Whenever his mentor had to take on something too serious for Lance to be able to handle yet, it was his job to comfort the anxious loved ones and keep them out of Coran’s way, and fake errands were a tried and true strategy.

Unfortunately nothing came to mind, not in the barren cave with no water or useless supplies to send him off in pursuit of. “Sit down, Red, your pacing is hurting my head.”

Red dropped to the floor like his legs had been pulled out from under him as soon as he was given permission. “Why do you still keep calling me that?” he asked. The way he was shyly peering out of the corner of his eyes with his head tilted away undermined the casual tone he said it in.

“Uh, I guess just. Habit. You don't-” Lance paused, wincing silently to hold in his pain, steadily ignoring Red's-  _Keith's_ worried look, “You don't like me calling you that? I'll try harder,” he promised.

“No, it's just…” Red tilted his head towards the outside of their prison, “It's what everyone here calls me, with the importance of names to them- us. I got it from Pidge, so it's not like I hate it exactly. It's just- I- I'm not… different. Red is a dragon and a monster, and I'm not-” he stopped, making little airy sounds that Lance suddenly realised meant he was trying to say something that wasn't strictly true. Looking miserable, he cast his head even further down.

“I'm not,” he repeated stubbornly. “Not really.”  
He looked sheepish after his little outburst, watching Lance guardedly as he waited for his reaction.

“I know,” Lance said firmly. “You're Keith. It would be super hypocritical if I- _Ohgodthisisdefinitelyit_ ,” he screamed, remembering frantically that he didn't get to ask if he'd be naked when he changed back.  _Please don't be naked_ , he prayed. That would put  _such_ a damper on Keith's - slight - opening up to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance decided he loved faery magic. His shirt was absolutely torn to ribbons, tiny scraps of previously destroyed fabric clinging pathetically to his shoulders, but he had pants! He loved his filthy pants, he loved the scary cryptic faeries, he loved the stupid Unseelie Queen so much he could kiss her. His whole body felt like one giant, bleeding bruise, but he couldn't care less over his jubilance at that small detail. Actually, maybe he cared a little.  
“ _Ow,_ ” he whined, searching for Keith in the newly spacious cage.

 “ _Lance_!” Keith didn't care that Lance was curled into a pathetic, bleeding, half-naked ball. He nudged the newly re-humanised bundle with his nose, looking more relieved than he had a right to be able to with such a spiky face.

Lance forced himself to sit up and pat that nose weakly, his free hand going to clutch at the bleeding wound on his side that had reopened at some point during his transformation. Red's eyes followed his hand to the wound, narrowing. “You're be bleeding, and you were unconscious for ten minutes. I thought you were going to die,” he said shakily.

Lance blinked in surprise, overwhelmed with Keith's genuine fear for him. He cared for Keith because he was ridiculously softhearted - that's why he became an apprentice to a healer. But realising that the emotionally cautious faery cared for him too was jarring, and… kind of great.Before Lance could even open his mouth to reply, the air was filled with red sparks. He almost pointed out that since he was going to die anyway, Keith should save his strength, but then that fuzzy warm feeling enveloped him again. It was much more intense than the other time he'd experienced it, and he forgot what he was even trying to say, feeling the wound on his side being tenderly closed, every tiny laceration on his body being sewn shut by the red magic. He let out a wordless noise of satisfaction as the sparks faded away, watching them go with childlike awe.

“Mmm,” he hummed dumbly. “Feels gooood.”

 

There was a dragon face in his face. That happened all the time, he reminded himself. He wasn't scared of dragons any more, not this one. The dragon face had another face and it was a nice face. He tried to tell Keith as much, but all he got in reply was a cocked eyebrow and a concerned grunt.

“Lance? Are you okay?”

He reached out a hand and touched Red on the muzzle, grabbing like a baby reaching for their favourite toy. His nails scratched uselessly at the scales as his dragon pulled away, to Lance's disgruntled whimper, failing to hold him in place.  
“Don't _gooo,"_  he whined, beginning to drag himself across the cave floor to his giant red guardian angel.

Keith seemed amused, tilting his head to one side. “I'm right here, Lance. I can't actually leave, we're in a prison.” He sighed. “I should've known the stories about humans and faery magic were true.”

“The stories about dragons are true too!” Lance joined in enthusiastically. “I've seen one. I've seen a few, actually. Some of them are really scary, but there's a really cool one who-  _mrmph_!”

He was cut off by a ball of something being stuffed unceremoniously in his mouth - it seemed to be a bundle of moss. It left a metallic earthy taste in his mouth as he spat it out on the floor, needing multiple attempts to clear his mouth of all the little bits that had broken off. Red looked upset, the little frills of his ears pressed flat against his head. “Lance, shut up _._ You're all crazy. I should never have used that much magic on you. What if they come in here right now and take you away for another fight!” Red always spoke to himself, or half to himself, when he was angry. He seemed upset by something, but Lance struggled with the concept that anyone could be upset about this awesome feeling.

“Always grumpy,” Lance complained, “Always worrying, always complaining. You don't have to worry about me, I can look after myself. Now where's the pretty face? Much better than this one, all spiky.” He proved just how competent he was by stumbling to his feet. And immediately falling. The only thing that stopped him from smashing his face into the rock was Red’s hastily outstretched foreleg. When he tried to move again, he found himself firmly restrained by a powerfully coiled tail. He wriggled pathetically for only a few seconds before he gave up, pouting at his captor. “You're so strong. Do you think they'll make you kill me?” he asked cheerfully.

He almost crashed to the ground for a second time as Red’s entire body went slack, only regaining control of his tail just in time to rescue Lance from getting his brains dashed out on the rocks. “I'm not going to think about that,” Keith said tightly, the whites of his eyes showing like a spooked horse.   
Lance, even in his semi-mindless state, knew that was the likely culmination to this whole affair. It was what should’ve happened in the first place, which he explained to Keith.

Keith… he missed Keith. His smile was so pretty and there was an underlying  _pointiness_  to his bone structure that gave him away as not being quite human. Lance wanted those cheekbones to cut him up into little bitesize pieces.

 

“... You're drooling a little.”

 


	6. The one where Keith is the narrator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Keith POV you wanted! Be warned, in the final section (that's the 3rd section, after the Queen enters) there is some discussion of Keith's abusive relationship with his mother and just general messed up mind games that you may want to skip over if that sounds triggering to you.

“Chill out, big guy,” Lance drawled. Keith frowned. Lance was stumbling around like he was going to hurt himself, forcing Keith to use his tail to hold the errant human still. If his flailing wasn't so irritating, it would be almost endearing. As it was, Keith was struggling to hold him still, keep him from braining himself on the rocks, and not hurt him by cracking his ribs or jabbing him with any errant spikes.

 

“If I let go, are you going to fall over?”

“You're always frowning, Mr Dragon,” Lance complained instead, reaching his hand out to poke at Keith's face like he was trying to get it to go away. Once again, Keith was unable to decide if he found it cute or obnoxious. All the while, Lance was grinning away like he was in on some great joke. Keith couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen someone's smile before he met Lance. Fae didn't smile, not unless they were watching some innocent creature getting ripped apart and delighted in it. That kind of smile didn't exactly fill Keith with affection the same way Lance's did.   
It was only because he'd been so mostly alone for so long that he felt so protective of Lance, or so he told himself. When- _if_ anything happened to him, Keith would be alone again. Sure, he thought Lance had a lovely smile, but it wasn't like he'd seen many other human smiles to compare it to. They probably _all_ smiled with such warmth that it spread to everyone else in the room.

“Don't call me that,” he frowned, tentatively loosening his hold on Lance's torso, though he remained on edge in case he was needed to immediately rescue Lance from falling again.

“See!” Lance cackled. “You're doing it again. Does turning into a dragon make you grumpier? Man, I could see how it would annoy me. Actually, I think it _did_. I dunno, was that a dream? Keith, I had such a weird dream. I was a dragon and you looked after me and I had to eat this _enormous_ crab…”

Keith felt himself relax at the use of his real name. He hated the idea that Lance thought of him as a dragon, as a _monster_. The Queen and her consorts treated him like an animal no matter what shape he was in, just another creature who lived to provide her with entertainment. But Lance treated him differently when he was _Keith_ and not _Red_ , which was the reason he hadn't told Lance about the curse in the first place. He'd been starting to feel like maybe he had a real friend, not an ally or a servant but someone who did things for him just for the sake of it. This definitely wasn't a fae concept. Everything had a price, everything they did lead to their own gain. Even their love was more like lust.

Keith worried if he was worthy of Lance's affection. He didn't even know if he could requite it properly, or if he was just offering Lance what he wanted in return for what Keith wanted. He'd never seen any other fae forge bonds that ran any deeper than that; the Queen often encouraged her children to try and kill each other. He'd never met any Seelie faeries, but he could only pray that they were different. The way Lance trusted and defended him was something he desperately wanted to be able to requite, but all he had in his blood, as far as he knew, was how to use people for his own gain and entertainment. Something in him _had_ to be capable of more. The alternative prospect seemed very lonely indeed.

“You're always thinking about things,” Lance interrupted his thoughts, “And frowning. What’re you thinking that makes you so frowny?”  
Satisfied that Lance wasn't about to hurt himself, Keith settled down in a comfortable sprawl across the cage. Who knows how long the side effects of the magical healing would last? Lance probably wouldn't remember this anyway. Might as well indulge him. Better that than end up in an argument with a delirious human, and it was the only option available to pass the time.

“I was just hoping my father gave me better genes than my mother,” he admitted, eyeing Lance cautiously to try and gauge his reaction.

Lance managed to achieve a relatively stable cross legged position beside Keith, though he leaned his head against Keith's side so he must've needed some support to stay sitting upright. He whispered conspiratorially, like he was going to tell some great secret. Keith's ears pricked up.

“I mean,” his eyes flitted around nervously, as though he was making sure they weren't being watched by anyone. He leaned closer, Keith's head following subconsciously, though his hearing would no doubt pick up whatever vital piece of information he was about to share from a few metres away, even in his careful whisper. “I mean. The Queen isn't the exactly ugly. She's definitely super evil but she's also kind of attractive, in that really terrifying way.”

“Hot?” Keith questioned. He was an idiot for thinking that Lance, in this state, was going to share anything of note. The earnestness that dripped from Lance's voice was enough to make Keith laugh, careful to keep the smoke away from Lance in the relatively confined space. As far as he could figure out, there seemed to be a constant fire burning inside of him ready for whenever he needed it, so every exhale was punctuated with a puff of smoke.

Lance was regarding him curiously, head tilted to the side. “Hot? It means good-looking but not in the same way as beautiful. She's too evil for that. Anyway, you have her genes so you aren't ugly.”

Keith nodded, pretending to understand. Humans and their total lack of objectivity. How could someone's personality affect how they looked? It definitely couldn't affect their temperature, although the way Lance used it, it appeared to be a metaphor. Someone who was beautiful but evil, or something. “I wasn't really talking about looks.”

That earned him a confused stare from Lance. “You mean on the inside? Oh, that's easy. You're good. I know ‘cause you didn't eat me. That's some fairly strong evidence. I bet I taste so good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Keith had been expecting Lance to come to slowly, perhaps over many hours, but he actually came around gradually during their conversation. He was completely himself after only about half an hour of talking. It was entertaining to watch him gradually become more coherent until Keith was no longer babysitting him and instead they were just talking. It was nice. Aside from the dripping noises and faint thuds coming from around them. With no light in the cave, it was hard to tell what time it was. Keith had no idea when that cursed horn was going to sound and one or both of them would be dragged out in front of the crowd. Until then, all he could do was try and distract himself.

There he went again, using Lance to distract him. Lance seemed nervous too. He glanced at the stairway which lead aboveground every few seconds, visibly twitching.  
“Are you okay?” Keith managed to ask. He didn't know if bringing it up again would make things worse, or if Lance was already thinking about it anyway and might as well get some of it off his chest. He watched Lance freeze, a vulnerable look crossing his face, then disappearing, then reappearing slightly as Lance's eyelashes fluttered nervously against his cheek.

Keith's heart leapt in his chest. Lance was being honest with him, at least a little, letting his vulnerability show. It made Keith giddy. That, too, was not something the Unseelie ever did. Why would they ever willingly show weakness? The fact that someone trusted him enough to deliberately expose their own fear made his whole body even warmer than it usually was. He only wished he could be as good as Lance seemed to think he was, but so far all he'd done was cover up his emotions with what Lance called ‘being a grumpy guts’. 

“I'm scared,” Lance admitted. Why wouldn't he be? Keith would be more worried if he wasn't. It put him in a difficult position, though, because he couldn't just assure Lance that he was worrying over nothing. He wasn't. Keith wasn't sure if he was meant to pretend to be fine and reassure Lance, or if he should admit his own fears and make Lance know he wasn't alone in being absolutely terrified.

He stayed silent. Lance gazed up at him uncertainly.

“I'm scared too,” Keith agreed eventually.

As soon as he said so, Lance deflated. Initially, Keith panicked, until he realised Lance was sitting on the ground with an expression of relief.  
“It feels better to say it,” he mumbled. His lips curled into a pouting frown, hesitation scrawled across his features that made Keith tilt his head a little forwards as though his expression would suddenly make sense if it was closer. As soon as his head was within reach, Lance grabbed it without warning.

He made an uncivilised noise and almost incinerated Lance in surprise - his lifestyle certainly encouraged one to be on their guard at all times. Once he'd retained control of his instincts he realised Lance had thrown his arms around Keith's neck, burying his face in the softer scales on the underside. It looked scratchy and unpleasant but Lance appeared comforted. He always was a strange boy. When he showed no signs of stopping, Keith shuffled a little closer so he wouldn't lose his balance from being tugged towards the human.

It was a really terrible hug, and Keith had no illusions about why. The Queen had already told him he wasn't going to see his humanoid form for some time, though, so he was going to have to make do with what he had. And what he had was Lance. He wasn't going to let anyone take that away without a fight.

 

* * *

 

 

It quickly became evident that there was a small flaw in Keith's newfound stubbornness. That flaw was a certain someone with the ability to take away his choice to resist. The Queen appeared while Lance was still embracing Keith. Unable to do much to requite it, Keith had just stood there and let him. Until she arrived, and they snapped apart. After only a couple of weeks here, Lance learned quickly; emotional attachments were weaknesses and weaknesses would be exploited. Judging from her manic grin, the Queen was already well aware of their friendship, if that was how to correctly refer to the mutual affection and protectiveness that ran between them. Whatever it was, she was aware of it and more than happy to exploit it.

“How are you doing, dear ones?” she greeted them sweetly. To someone who didn't understand the world she ruled over, Keith mused, she would often seem like a very friendly, kind individual. Aside from the thing where she turned people into dragons and made them fight. Keith struggled with his instincts: he wanted to hiss and spit and most importantly protect Lance, especially when he was a defenceless human and Keith was decidedly not. Yet that would most certainly only excite her more, like wiggling a piece of string in front of a cat’s nose. He settled for eyeing her distrustfully as he tried to subtly shift his body to block Lance from view.

“Don't be like that,” she pouted, eyes flashing. It was spoken innocently enough, but with an undercurrent of power running through it that made Keith tense. He had enough time to shoot Lance a panicked look and then she was beckoning him with a curved talon and he was slinking to her obediently. Seemingly unprompted, he lay on the floor in front of her docilely, every vulnerable part of him exposed. Out of the of his eye he could see Lance watching him with a carefully guarded expression. He prayed Lance could understand, didn't hate him for how completely unable to resist he was. It wasn't for lack of trying.

“Much better!” She clapped her hands together. Keith felt a pang of disappointment when she didn't lean down to pet him, a side effect of all the enchantments she covered herself in to make herself irresistible. “I was starting to think you didn't like me, little red. Not as much as your little pet here. You could never replace me, though. I know you love me really.” She bared her teeth at him. Keith panicked, though another half of him was giddy at her attentions and eager to please her any way he could. It was hard to distinguish between what was her own magic, what was her control of him, and what was simply loneliness and desperation and some fucked up desire to earn his mother's approval.

Her non-magical control over him had waned dramatically since he'd met Lance. Before, after a year of complete isolation, he'd been starting to bend to her will for real, no enchantments needed. The only person he'd even really  _spoken_ to for a year, besides the one-sided roar of the crowd, was her. He was stubborn, but eventually he began to crave some kind of human (not human, he had to remind himself. He wasn't human, and he never had been. His mother _certainly_ wasn't) affection, no matter who it came from and why. If it wasn't for Pidge’s occasional company, he would probably already be a mindless pawn.  
The Queen had enough power over him to turn him into a mindless slave anyway. He might as well not resist her, make things easier for himself. There was nothing to fight for, no reward for holding out against her. Just the same cold, empty cave. At least if he appeased her, he could sit beside her during the tournament and talk to his half sisters, he could feel the warmth of hands against his cheek and stroking his hair, imitating the connection he'd always craved since his second set of parents had realised the child in their home wasn't their son anymore and discarded him. 

He only realised he was misty-eyed when she crouched down before him. As always, her face was splattered with an imitation of whatever emotion Keith wanted to see. Falsely concerned, she dragged her nail across his face lightly. Unlike always, this time Lance was present. He was frozen against the wall but he was eyeing Keith with an expression of genuine worry, of _caring_ _._ Keith felt his breath hitch. That wasn't an expression he'd ever had aimed at him before.

She quickly followed Keith's distressed gaze, her expression souring as she saw what stole his attention from her.

“Get up,” she growled, uncharacteristically angry. He was unused to hearing her voice anything but sickly sweet, in rotten contrast to whatever her words were. It couldn't bode well.

Lance was still eyeing them, face schooled back into blankness as Keith scrambled to his feet. He knew how utterly pathetic he must look for a dragon.

“Bring him to me,” the Queen ordered coolly.

Lance's eyes bulged. Keith's brain sputtered weakly and gave up, his legs already taking him towards where Lance cowered. Thankfully, Lance knew better to resist. It meant Keith could simply push Lance from behind with his nose, instead of having to use any sharper body parts. The Queen narrowed her eyes and Keith jabbed his nose forwards with a greater force, sending Lance tumbling to his knees.

She could command him with cues so subtle that the compulsion blended against her enticing magic and it felt so much like an independent action that Keith's resolve began to crumble. Shoving Lance to the ground didn't feel like something he was being commanded to do again his will. It felt like something he did because he wanted to. _This isn't me_ , he told himself stubbornly. _I wouldn't hurt him._

Lance turned to face him, trying to hide the hurt shining in his eyes. Was he hiding it from Keith, the Queen, or himself?

“Show me how devoted you are to me,” she purred. Lance's eyes bulged even wider, hurt suddenly replaced with fear. He saw the look in Keith's eyes, that he knew must be alight with caged fury and bloodlust. He was certainly feeling anger and bloodlust: it was so easy for her to clutch his feelings between her fingers like wires and gently turn them away from herself, aiming his rage at Lance. Once again, he almost didn't feel like he was being compelled as he rose to his feet, the only sign of resistance a small wobble in his stance. “Show me there's nothing you love more than me.”

Keith felt himself being ripped in two all of a sudden. A part of him bowed completely to her will, another part tearing itself away in a desperate bid to be separated from this monstrous thing that was in his mind. Of _course_ he didn't want to hurt Lance! The only person he wanted to hurt was whoever dared to touch Lance. It was a relief in some ways to have the tiny bit of control returned to him. In most ways, he wished he wasn't conscious at all, so he wouldn't have to be aware of himself as he lunged for Lance.

After that, his consciousness mostly abandoned him. It felt like he was in a trance. Lance was bleeding. There was blood smeared everywhere, the sickening smell of it filling Keith's nostrils. He shut his eyes tightly as though that could block it out, as though if he couldn't see Lance pinned weakly beneath him, it wouldn't be real. He could hear the Queen laughing. He still didn't dare open his eyes. He'd rather be blind for the rest of his life than see whatever was before him right now. Lance didn't scream or move away, just lay there. Keith only knew he was alive because he could feel his heartbeat leaking around his claws.

“Good, that's enough. We better make sure there's a little bit of him left for later, hmm?” She spoke to him like they were on the same team, like Keith wanted to see Lance ripped apart in front of a crowd as much as she did. 

Keith was collapsing by Lance's side before she was even gone, frantically pouring out every ounce of magic he had in him and not even wasting a moment to see if she'd left. Lance was tiny and pale and cold and there was probably more blood outside his body than inside. Keith let out a low whimper, licking frantically at the gaping wounds he'd left behind, wrinkling his nose at the taste of blood. He allowed his magic to spill out of him, even after every wound had sealed itself and even the scars had faded, pouring every last bit of strength he had into Lance's unconscious body.

“I'm sorry,” he moaned. “I'm so sorry, Lance.”

Lance was alive, his heartbeat roaring in Keith's ears. That didn't mean Keith could forgive himself.

  
  


* * *

 

 


	7. The one where The Queen is more evil than usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen is determined to prove her authority over Keith. Lance and Keith are forced to work together and fail miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R. E. Magical energy transfer that is discussed in this chapter and a couple of times previously, think of it this way: you have energy. You can use that energy to carry someone else on your back, or find them some food to eat, thus helping them and saving/restoring their energy indirectly. However, you can't just take your energy and stick it directly inside someone else.  
> ..... I hope that possibly explains why Lance being able to transfer his energy is remarkable even in a world where healing is normal

When Lance woke up, Pidge was back again. She was having a hushed conversation with Keith through the wall of magic. Their voices were fairly clear in the hollow underground chamber, so Lance barely had to strain to pick out most of their conversation. Being a dragon was apparently a bit of a hindrance to being able to talk very quietly. Even Red's whisper rang out just as loudly as Lance's normal speaking voice.  
“... keep him, you know?” Pidge was saying, her expression disapproving. Lance could see her face through the slight distortion of the magical barrier, but only Red’s back was visible.

“He's not my pet!” Keith complained, his voice rising petulantly. Oh, so they were talking about Lance. His ears pricked up, even more keen to eavesdrop now he knew that he was the subject of their conversation. Pidge was reaching through the barrier to lay a calming hand on Red's nose.

“Okay, sorry! You'd have done well to pretend he _was_ before mother figured out how attached you are. You and your morals." She shook her head disapprovingly at her brother. "I don't see why you care.” 

“I _do_ care about him, though.” Lance saw a puff of black smoke float through the air. “I can't pretend I don't.” He hung his head. Pidge’s expression changed suddenly, from one of mild disdain to one of curious surprise.

“Wow, you really do,” she said, tilting her head at the huge dragon. Lance felt his cheeks heat. He was glad no one was watching him, especially not Keith. “You're so weird. It's just some little human.”

Another, bigger puff of black smoke. Lance could almost hear the audible huff this time. “He's more than that. And I _hurt_ him.”

He did? Lance didn't remember what happened before he fell asleep, and he felt fine. He wrinkled his nose in thought, just as his eyes alighted on a pool of dark liquid on the floor. Blood? But Lance was certain he wasn't bleeding, as certain as he could be without moving and alerting the others that he was awake.

 

“I _bit him in_ _half_ ,” Keith said brokenly.

Lance jolted. At first all that came to him was his first memory of Red back in the ring, little more than a few fragmented images of fast-moving red scales, blazes of fire, and snapping jaws. But they were quickly replaced with fresher, newer images, coming to him slowly and hazily at first and then all at once until he was trembling. Keith _had_ hurt him.

 _No_ , he told himself firmly, the _Queen_ had hurt him. Keith had been nothing more than a defenceless pawn, just like Lance was. Keith would never hurt him. Still, he found himself flinching away when Red flicked his tail angrily.

“He looks fine to me,” Pidge was saying. She was right; Lance was fine. He didn't remember Keith healing him, was already unconscious by then, but he remembered how badly hurt he was and put the pieces together. Keith had to be exhausted. Forgetting Pidge’s eyes on him, Lance's face screwed up with concern. “Oh look, and he's awake!” That was the end of his eavesdropping, then.

“Lance!” Keith cried happily, spinning around dizzyingly fast. His face fell when Lance flinched at the sudden movement. “I… Are you feeling well?” His tone was suddenly curt, his face shuttered.

“Keith?” Lance reached out for him, but he shied away.

“You told him your true name?” Pidge gaped, eyes flickering to Lance in disbelief. “Wow, then you really are-”

“It was an accident,” Keith snapped, not meeting Lance's eyes.

“How do you _accidentally_ tell someone your true name? Anyway, we don't have time for excuses. You can call me Pidge. I took care of your little rabbit for you,” When she smiled, her teeth looked much sharper than Keith's. In his real form, anyway. “And I'm here to take care of you two idiots.”

Lance backed away, his heart thudding in his chest. He was more than familiar with faery euphemisms. Pidge’s grin started to look less friendly and more like a leer. She seemed annoyed, and she clearly didn't like Lance. After the Queen, who spoke with the most cheerful inflections as she ordered the most horrible deeds, Lance was hesitant to trust Pidge's weary but pleasant tone.   
“What do you mean, _take care of us_?” 

Pidge laughed. “I mean, get you out of this mess. Goodness me, Red, your human is so jumpy. What did you _do_?” She realised her mistake when Keith ducked his head miserably, shuffling away from Lance. Clearly, she'd intended it as a joke but given how Keith had been forced to attack Lance just hours ago, it fell a little flat. She stroked his muzzle again, trying to dig him out of his self pitying hole. “My brother here is quite in demand. And he won't come without you.”

Pidge looked like she found that incredibly amusing, if irritating and strange. It reminded Lance of how his own sister was when he first started studying magic. No one took him seriously at first, especially not her. He would lock himself up in his room for hours with his old books, soaking up every bit of information he could and only venturing outside to retrieve herbs or practice his healing on baby birds who'd fallen from the nest and local cats with scrapes from fighting eachother. She'd introduced him to others with an attitude much like Pidge's - 'That's my brother, the weird magic nerd' - with the same flat inflection and amused-but-embarrassed eyes. 

“In demand with who?” Lance asked suspiciously.

“Our father.”

 

* * *

 

 

Pidge didn't seem keen to stick around. Her parting remark after a very brief explanation to Lance was, “I'll leave you two alone. You have a lot to talk about.”

Apparently, judging by the way he quickly retreated to the furthest corner of the cave-prison, Keith disagreed. He ignored all Lance's efforts to talk to him, as stubborn as ever. Lance owed his life to that stubbornness, but it sucked to have it directed at him. He wasn't even sure why Keith was being like this. Lance was the one who'd almost died, so surely if anyone had the right to be angry, it was him.  
“Please stop sulking?” he begged. “I don't even know what I did. Please talk to me, Keith. I'm going to go insane with boredom if you leave me here by myself.” 

“I could've killed you.” It was a relief to hear his voice, even if it sounded unfathomably miserable. He wasn't mad at Lance, after all, but being destroyed by guilt. Lance groaned. That was even worse. It seemed like every piece of good news in this stupid place only brought three times as much bad in with it. 

“You stopped breathing for a moment, I think. I punctured your lung, cracked most of your ribs, severed your-”

“Keith, _stop it."_  Lance was shocked at how loud his own voice was, and Keith seemed to be too, flinching away in shock. A huge magical dragon, flinching because a human boy raised his voice a little. His panicked expression made Lance drop his voice a few decibels. “I'd be dead already three times over if it wasn't for you. Stop beating yourself up over it. You didn't do anything wrong. I know you had no choice, and I'm not angry at you. it was the Queen, not you. You didn't hurt me. _I know you'd never hurt me_.” His voice stayed steady throughout the whole speech, only cracking a little on the last few words. He said it with absolute certainty, because he'd seen Keith's eyes as he jumped for Lance and suddenly knew in his heart that Keith wouldn't ever choose to hurt Lance, even if his life depended on it.

Keith noticed Lance's confidence in him, too. He turned slowly, looking surprised and vulnerable. “Why do you have so much faith in me?” He stepped forward, eyes burning. “I should've been able to resist her, but I couldn't. You are alive right now because she chose to keep you alive. If she wanted me to kill you, I'd have killed you. Do you not understand that, Lance? You are only alive because she wants to watch me do it _again_ , maybe many times over, until she gets bored. And I won't be able to stop. I _should've been able to_ -”

Lance watched in alarm as his voice cracked, knees wobbling as he plunged to the floor. The dazed expression on his face was almost funny, as startled by his sudden new position on the floor as Lance was.

“Keith!” Lance ran forward, dropping to his knees beside the dragon, who looked worried and extremely exhausted. Cursing himself for not noticing earlier, Lance put his hands on Red’s heaving chest. “You must've spent too much energy healing me. Let me help.”

He closed his eyes, trying to picture the last time he'd done this. It'd been with Keith and not a huge dragon that time, but Lance was hoping their magical energy reserves would be the same. When Red was wounded, it was physically larger and took much more energy to correct, but this was something much deeper. Hopefully that meant it remained the same size when Keith turned into Red. Lance didn't really understand what he was working with here. All he could do was remember his determination from the last time he'd managed to share his own life force, the place where that blue glow came from, gripping it and shoving it into Keith. He could feel the other’s resistance and gritted his teeth, reinforcing the flow with more energy until it burst through Keith's stubbornness.

“Just let me help you,” he begged, opening his eyes. The blue scale on Red’s side was glowing; he had his head tilted to watch it with transfixed awe and glowing blue eyes.

Lance let out a shaky breath, unclenching his fists and plugging the energy inside him that was still desperately reaching out to Keith. Was it so keen to do that last time? Even his own life force would rather be somewhere else, apparently. He'd happily have given it, but he needed _some_ of it to stay conscious and he was fairly sure that if he passed out helping Keith, the dragon would kill one or both of them. Anxiously, Lance watched as the glow faded from Red's eyes.   
“How did you do that?” The surprise in the dragon's voice was obvious. “I don't - I've never even heard of anyone doing that before, and you've done it twice now. You shouldn't be weakening yourself like that…”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “You're a hypocrite! You literally just collapsed!”

Keith ignored him, staring intently at the blue scale on his own side as the last of its light flickered out. “You turned me blue,” he accused quietly.

“It was already blue! Besides, it's only one tiny scale.”

“But what does it _mean_?” Red huffed. “It could be dangerous. It's like you gave a part of yourself to me. You can't just give bits of your life force away all the time!”

“I don't do it all the time,” Lance grinned. “Just you.” 

He only realised how intense that sounded after he said it, when Keith's eyes bulged and be stared at Lance silently for an achingly long moment before he looked away. 

 

* * *

 

“It's just so hard to _decide_ ,” the Queen sighed. “I'm supposed to be punishing you for your insubordinance, but I'm rather in the mood for some swordfighting. I don't suppose the pretty one is much with a sword, not with those spindly arms.” She sighed, waving her hand vaguely at Lance and sending a now-familiar bolt of purple lightning. It struck, hard, and Lance found himself pinned to the floor with the pain of it. 

She turned to Keith, who was pinned to the floor by a different force. “It's a shame the pretty one can't have a curse like yours, it would save me the effort of having to do everything myself, wouldn't it?” She sighed. “I'll have someone along to bring you out shortly. If you're both good, I might even let you take your true shape again.”

Lance whirled on Keith as soon as she left. “What did she mean, your curse?” Since finding out that he actually had a Pidge-shaped shot of making it out of here, he found himself actually _caring_ about what happened to himself again. The building static crawling through his limbs again was actually concerning, not just painful.

“My two forms are controlled by a curse she had placed on me by a warlock. It makes it much easier for her to change what form I take without draining herself. You're easier to manipulate, I think, because you're human, but it's still a great effort each time.” He eyed Lance shiftily, the look Lance had come to associate with Keith hiding something. He told Keith as much, folding his arms. After repeatedly pouring his life force into the red dragon, he deserved the whole truth. “I'm a shape-shifter,” Keith said reluctantly. Lance's brows shot up. “I don't think I'm very good at it, considering I didn't actually know until just before she took me. The curse forces me to remain like this, or else I could just shift back. It forces me to change myself, so it doesn't require anyone else’s magic.”

Each time Lance learned something new about this crazy place, he thought he knew everything. Nothing else could surprise him. He was wrong. Learning Keith was a shape-shifter wasn't quite as rattling as learning he was also Red, but it was certainly mind-boggling.

“Can you turn into anything else?”

Red just shrugged. “I'm not sure. Don't worry about that now. If you concentrate on the change, it'll go faster and you'll have longer to recover before she's back to take you to the ring.”

Ah, so that's what was happening. He'd known somewhere what the spell she'd thrown at him did, but he'd been preoccupied like he always was when the Queen got too close to Red.   
“Not again," he whimpered.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance shied away from the crowd’s screams. Dragons apparently had much stronger senses, and the combination of blinding light and the roars of the crowd was making his legs tremble. He was vaguely aware of Keith rounding on him, shielding him slightly from the onslaught.  
“You okay?” he asked quietly. Lance forced himself to nod, but Keith shot him a long look that didn't seem very convinced.

“Just focus on me, okay?” He peered at Lance in concern and he had to force himself not to flinch away. It wasn't easy to forget where they were, and Lance's blood had been spilled here before, by Red.

 Pidge wasn't on the cushion, but she was hovering beside the Queen with an idle smile, even shooting them a thumbs up. Lance was fairly confident he wasn't about to be ripped apart in Red's jaws, because Pidge seemed content, and he also got the feeling that he'd be human when the time came because the Queen would want Keith to be able to see every vulnerable emotion in Lance's face as he flickered away. _Okay, that wasn't the best thing to be thinking about when he was trying to calm down._ Lance's suspicions were confirmed when another dragon entered the ring. It was the same green colour as the one Keith fought before and easily twice as big as Lance, let alone Keith. It definitely didn't look friendly. But its size surely meant Keith and Lance were at least on the same team, so Lance counted his blessings. Keith's expression said that he was doing the same, tilting his head towards Lance and letting out a smoky gust of air.

“Just let me handle it,” he hissed. “Keep yourself safe.”

“K- Red, no!” Lance checked himself at the last minute, wary of anyone listening in. “It's _huge_. I'm bigger than you, I can help. You don't have to protect me. I managed fine the last time and I've had more practise now.”

He situated himself firmly in front of Red's stocky body, forcing himself to get used to the noise and assault of scents and light. He shot a blast of ice at the same time as Red let loose a burst of fire. The unfortunate effect was that the streams of danger merged into one limp trickle of hot water that splashed limply against the dragon's foot. They both glared at eachother as the Queen laughed. It looked like they were going to be fighting eachother, after all, if not they way they'd thought.


	8. The one with the jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge earns her keep, and Lance and Keith discover a common friend. Lance observes the blurred lines of truth and learns about the many ways to avoid the truth when you can't lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to everyone who has bookmarked a fic of mine with a nice comment. I was so bored today after I finished season 3 that I started reading through the bookmarks, and I found some really lovely comments on them that made me smile.

“I _know_ what I'm _doing."_

“You're tiny!” Lance growled. “They all call you ‘runt’, for heaven's sake.”

“I have magic, I have experience, I have fire. You're just a human and I will _not_ let you get hurt again because of me!” Keith's body rippled with anger; he spat a stream of fire straight in front of him. It hit the other dragon, which Lance was convinced was by chance, and the crowd roared. Lance hadn't realised just how much they liked Red until he was under their cheers beside him.

The green dragon hissed in pain. Taking advantage of its distraction, Lance encased another of its legs in searing ice. It quickly managed to free itself enough to move, but the ice had done its damage, leaving frost burns just as severe as Red's fire and slowing down its muscles. The immensely cold temperature was especially effective on creature with such a high body temperature, throwing its bodily functions way off. Where its thick scales and natural tolerance for heat protected it from the full effect of Keith's fire, it succumbed easily to Lance's frost. Its scales stood as a defense from teeth and claws, but they weren't equipped to handle dropping temperatures. The areas of its leg that it hadn't freed from the ice in time quickly blackened and dropped away, accompanied by a howl of pain. Lance shot Keith what he hoped was a smug look.

They worked better once they stopped talking. Their natural desires to protect each other played out as quicker reflexes and smarter instincts, rather than bickering and attempts at martyrdom. When Lance managed to hit their enemy with a blast of ice, even for a second, the surrounding scales would fall away as the blood ran away from the surface and left nothing but dead tissue behind. Apparently, the scales were still alive and needed blood flow, meaning they could be frozen off just like fingers. It didn't seem to hurt the beast much, but it left it exposed to Keith's quick teeth and claws. Lance turned away, uncomfortable with the image of his companion sinking his teeth into the other dragon's flank and coming away smeared in blood.

After much initial tribulation, they fell into an uneasy routine as Lance created weak spots and Red exploited them bloodily. Lance could feel the Queen’s eyes on him the whole time. Most disconcertingly, she barely watched Red. Perhaps she found him less diverting than Lance's added novelty. It didn't seem that way, somehow. She didn't look at all amused.

The green dragon had hardly hit the floor when she stomped into the ring, grabbed Red by nose and clasped a thick collar around his neck, fixing a metal chain to the heavy iron binding with which to drag him along. Lance bowed his head as another guard fitted a similar contraption to his collar, which had been shoved onto him just after he changed and was too weak to fight. It was heavy at first, but he'd grown used to its weight over the course of the battle. It seemed to be enchanted in some way, because the most diminutive of girls had led him into the ring, yet he'd felt like he was being dragged along by ten men. The fae were known for incredible strength and grace, but she couldn't have been able to move a large dragon without so much as mildly exerting herself. It wasn't an issue where Keith was concerned given that the Queen could simply command him to return to his cell. But she was nothing if not committed to constantly reinforcing her court’s power dynamics with the help of public humiliation, so Lance couldn't say he was surprised by the symbolic gesture.

Keith had a wound on his neck that chafed against the metal collar. It was a new wound, one that would've been _easily_ prevented if Keith had just let Lance handle it. Lance felt a spike of irritation towards the red dragon, for always having to be the self sacrificing hero. Apparently Keith felt much the same about Lance, because he turned and glared at Lance when he asked for them not to bother with the collar.

“It’s hurting him,” Lance pleaded. “He can't resist anyway! If you take it off I'll co-operate too and I won't fight at all.” He dug his spurred heels into the dirt to illustrate is point.

“Why do you defend him,” the Queen asked curiously, turning to him with a vicious smile. “Do you forget what he did to you?”

“What _you_ did to me,” Lance replied easily. She threw her head back and laughed openly, clearly pleased by his defiance. Keith was silenced, possibly by  magic but more likely by his own guilt. “What he did to me was _heal_ me, so I don't see your point.” He caught Keith gazing at him with surprise and something else, something he guarded more carefully. The red dragon looked away quickly when he noticed Lance had caught him.

“I think you'll find it's not as simple as that,” she singsonged. “I think a part of him wanted to hurt you. He'd do anything for me, you see. You might be a fun little toy, but I am his mother. I understand humans have a rather warped concept of loyalty that we do not share. You see, he is loyal to get what he wants, or because he has to be. He is loyal to blood.” The double meaning of the word ‘blood’ hung heavy in the air. “He _wanted_ to hurt you because he wanted to please me. He'll always return to me, pretty one.”

“You're lying,” Lance said without hesitation.

She looked over him, smirking. “I can't do that, dearest.”

Lance felt an icy chill was over him, his heart seizing up like it had been speared and ripped out of his chest. “You believe that to be true,” he said, carefully covering his doubts. It was too late, and she'd already smelled his blood. Sensing her victory, Keith looked over in mute alarm. He gave Lance a strange wide-eyed look that he didn't know how to interpret and quickly looked away. Lance's heart was thudding in his chest, nausea rising inside him. That couldn't be true, right? She'd just convinced herself of it so that she could say it… assuming Lance's theory that they could lie if they _thought_ they were telling the truth was a correct one.

Wisely, she knew nothing she could say once she'd sewn the original seeds of doubt would be worse than what Lance's panicking brain could come up with, so she turned to Keith and left Lance to spew in his own doubt.

“Why do you go to such efforts for him, my sweet?” she cooed, resting her hand on Keith's side like she was counselling her son through his first heartbreak. “Is he really worth losing your mother over? I know you've grown very attached to your pet, but wouldn't it just be sensible to give up now? If you really are so fond of him, I could even spare him for you. We'll find a nice cage for him, you can come and visit him when you want.”

She sounded genuinely reluctant at the thought of sparing Lance. Lance boggled. Was this really her impression of love, letting her son keep a 'pet' that she clearly didn't like? Lance honestly couldn't tell if she was simply manipulating Keith as coolly as ever, or if she really was trying to make a sacrifice for him, however limp it was. She never hesitated to withdraw her affection, from Keith or any of her other children. Perhaps, Lance mused, it was genuinely getting to her that it was Keith who'd rejected her, and not the other way around. In a way, it was a lost battle. She might have his very physical form completely in control, but she didn't have _him._ Clearly unused to not getting what she wanted, she'd _failed_ at something. And it was making her furious.

Keith thrashed unhappily. “He _isn't_ a pet! I don't want that,” he said mulishly.

She shrugged. “Whatever you say, child. These humans are so fragile, though. Don't come crying to me when he doesn't last long.” Her fingers ran over the cold metal of his collar as she guided them both back into the cage, one woman dragging two dragons along with ease. “I own you,” she hissed, fingers lingering at his throat.

Suddenly, Keith was enveloped with a familiar purple fire. It created the illusion that he was being burned alive. Lance tried to swallow his panic as the collar was removed and a bolt of the same purple shot from The Queen’s fingers and clung to him. It didn't envelope him the same way it did Keith, didn't seem to be rising out of his own skin like a pupa forming around a caterpillar. Instead, it sank into him and ripped a hoarse scream from his throat.

Usually, this was when their unwelcome guest would leave them to their misery, after lingering for a moment to enjoy the noises of pain. She didn't leave, though, simply took a seat on a small ledge outside the cave, watching them with grim fascination. Lance watched in alarm as she lifted her finger towards Keith, pulling it back towards herself slowly as another string of purple magic shot out of it. As she retracted her hand, the purple magic faded, yanking a small, pale Keith out of the shroud of darkness. The tendrils of magic no longer supporting him, he fell to the ground. His eyes were closed.

Lance froze up. He wasn't sure how any of this worked, but he was certain that wasn't long enough for his body to prepare for the change, or whatever Keith had said. It was almost as though she'd physically hurried the change, forcing his body to shift faster than it should've.  
He hurried towards where Keith lay, unconscious. _Was he_ _dead?_   Lance wondered, suddenly delirious with fear.

“You're a healer, aren't you?” murmured the Queen coldly. “You should help him.”

She wrenched Lance forward in the same way, but he felt a bubble of something surrounding him like a shield. _She was keeping him conscious so that he’d feel it all._ Lance blacked out for a tiny moment, but was awake again by the time his now human knees hit the ground with a small grunt of pain. The unsteadiness didn't stop him from rushing to Keith's side. _Why was he still unconscious?_ Lance had recovered almost immediately, and he was much less well adapted for this than Keith.

“He really isn't worth the hassle.” She waved her hand nonchalantly, as though her only son wasn't unconscious, possibly dead, on the floor as Lance crouched beside him. “I had to go through all of this just to make him an interesting enough fighter. I suppose you were impressed by any fae at first, but the novelty has surely worn off by now? He's so pathetically small _."_   She shook her head slowly, her gaze on him every inch the disappointed mother’s.

Lance stared at her flatly. She appeared to be completely earnest. Did she really think Lance was going to be put off because Keith was _small_? “Uh, that's… Not really what I care about,” he stuttered, unsure what to even say to that.

“Oh, he's not any better in whatever areas you humans care about, either. He only managed to fool the family I left him with for a couple of summers, then they found him lacking in humanity and rid themselves of him. He was found by the son of a shepherd and raised alongside him by his widowed father. When the boy grew up and left for a place called Altea, your little changeling friend was abandoned by the shepherd and left to fend for himself in these woods, where I found him. You see? Nobody wants him. Whatever you want from him, he doesn't have it. So many people have tried to accommodate him, and he had nothing to give to any of them.”

Lance flinched. The Queen bared her teeth at him, thinking she'd won, but Lance wasn't upset for the reason she seemed to think. The story she told was of a lost child, cast out by his own race, rejected by every family he'd tried to find, betrayed by those he loved. It made sense, suddenly, his hesitation to trust anyone, his hurt at being called a monster and… Lance's heart squeezed: his determination not to abandon Lance. Because he didn't want Lance to feel the same way he did. He'd been wracked by guilt every time he had to leave Lance alone in the cave, and he sacrificed every small shred of goodness he'd achieved in this place rather than abandon Lance.  
In turn, he hated to be left alone. Lance remembered back in the cave, when he'd been injured and had pleaded desperately for Lance to stay every time he strayed more than a few inches away; remembered his anxiety every time Lance was taken out for a battle. He could only imagine what it must've felt like for him as a child. Did his adoptive parents just take him out to a field and leave him there? Did they tell him they'd be back and just disappear? Did he wait for them to return, never losing the childlike faith that everyone has in their parents, always convinced that they'd be coming back for him, until he was forced to give in?

Lance didn't think before he moved. He wriggled his arms under Keith's upper body, lifting the unconscious boy up enough to yank him into a crushing hug. Distantly, Lance was aware that the Queen was saying something, but he couldn't have cared less. He ignored her, focusing on Keith. “I'm not going to abandon you,” he whispered intently.

  


* * *

 

 

“He seems okay. Physically, there's not anything wrong with him,” Pidge said, standing up and dusting her knees off. Lance let out a sigh of relief. As soon as Pidge moved back away from her brother, Lance was sprawling in the space she'd left. “Making him change so fast like that just sent his system into shock. He needs to recover his energy - I tried to heal him and there was nothing _to_ heal. There's nothing we can do but wait.”  
It seemed he was in a sort of unnatural sleep, rather than completely unconscious. Lance hoped Pidge was right, because he hated to think what being unconscious for such a long time would do to Keith. 

“Thanks, Pidge,” Lance said quietly, his voice dull with worry. He was glad she'd appeared when she had. Albeit an unsettling companion, her presence still beat angsting alone in a dark cave while Keith slumbered obliviously.

She shook her head quickly. “I wouldn't do that if I were you,” she laughed, baring her pointed teeth at him cheerfully. “We don't _do_ gratitude: you thank an unseelie faerie because you respect that they have done you a service and you owe them one in return. Oh, and just so you know, the only reason I'm telling you this and not taking advantage of your ignorance is because I don't want my brother to murder me when he wakes up.”

“Right, noted.”

She tilted her head at him. “What are you doing? I told you, he isn't responding to magic.”

Lance shrugged. His fingers glowed blue as he thumbed a small mark on Keith's side, around where the blue scale had been when he was a dragon. Keith's shirt rode up in his sleep and drew Lance's eye to the exposed patch of skin, drawing his attention to a blemish on Keith's side. It was dark like a birthmark, much the same colour as Lance's own skin.

His head jerked up at Pidge’s voice, blinking away his reverie. He'd slipped away for a moment, magic spilling from his fingers without meaning to and almost forgetting anyone else existed but the two of them. From someone who, just a couple of weeks ago, struggled to summon the glowing magic when he had all manner of enchanted props, as well as hours of preparation and the guidance of a master, his magic sure was flowing naturally now.  
“He needs energy, though. I can fix that,” Lance explained.

Pidge’s eyebrows furrowed. “It's not simply a matter of some stamina charm,” she muttered. “His very being is exhausted. He spent every ounce of energy protecting himself from being ripped apart.”

Lance's heart twisted in his chest. He couldn't help but feel the Queen had been a step too careless with Keith this time. Toying with him and constantly leaving him just on the edge was her favourite game, but she always made sure he would survive. “ _You're a healer, aren't you?”_ she'd said, making sure Lance maintained consciousness. _“You should go to him.”_

Lance wasn't sure why she kept him alive, but it was clear she didn't want him dead. Not enough, though, to stay and watch him clawing himself back from the very brink of death, apparently. Certainly not enough to stop being the one who put him there in the first place.

“Oh I know,” Lance answered Pidge. “I can help with that.”

She rubbed her temples with her forefingers, letting out a long sigh. “No you can't. _Humans are so stupid, why does he like this one so much?_ He just needs rest.”

“Yes I can!” Lance argued, releasing the excess energy that buzzed in his fingers like a swarm of trapped bees. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, though it usually wasn't specific to his hand. That was just where he'd trapped it when Pidge had interrupted him and it was already halfway out of him.

He wondered if it was normal to feel like this. It was a feeling he'd had often since he was a young child, but never pinpointed until just now. It was, he realised, the feeling of having too much energy. Not physical energy, though the boisterous shouting and running of his childhood days had been a mildly effective way of releasing it. It was magical energy; spirit energy. It was _life_ , and Lance had always had too much of it singing through his veins.

Each time he'd siphoned some of it away, into Keith or Blue or some potion, he felt the distinct sensation of relief, of release. It was only too eager to flow out of him now, diving happily into Keith. Lance only stopped it when the relaxing feeling began to be replaced with exhaustion as he dipped into reserves that he actually needed. He'd gladly share those too, but there was no sense in wasting what he didn't need. He pulled his hand away from Keith's side with a twinge of reluctance. Somehow, Keith's head had ended up mostly in Lance's lap, which meant Lance had a beautiful view of his violet eyes fluttering open with a dazed look in them and immediately fixing on Lance.

“Hey,” he murmured, stroking his fingers through Keith's black hair.

“Hey,” Keith replied, smiling as he weakly tried to sit up.

 

“Sorry to interrupt your moment but _what in the shitting fuck_ did you just do?” Pidge’s screech, as advertised, ruined the moment. Keith scrambled into an independent sitting position without leaning heavily on Lance, who mourned the loss of the warmth and nothing else. In his tattered clothing, their current accommodation wasn't the warmest place on Earth, and Keith ran extremely hot. “He should've been out for several more hours!”

Lance shrugged. “Well he's awake. I think you screaming in his face made sure of that. Don't thank me.”

Keith looked much like Lance would expect someone to look having just woken up after an indeterminate period of hibernation and immediately had someone shouting in their ear. He rubbed his eyes and looked between Pidge and Lance in confusion. It gave Lance a determined urge to carry him to a nice soft bed and tuck him up with some herbal tea, if that wasn't completely impossible right now.  
“Lance can do that,” Keith agreed muzzily. “Transfer his energy like that. It's very useful.”

Pidge looked like she wanted to scream. “This is completely unprecedented, but neither of you even seem to _care_! Why aren't you more amazed by this? Especially you, Keith,” she protested. “I'm not that surprised that a human knows nothing about magic, but _you_ -” 

“Hey, I know lots about magic!” Lance squeaked, disgruntled. He squeaked for an entirely different reason when he felt Keith's attempt to both comfort him and stop his bickering. Only, instead of clapping a hand on Lance's shoulder like a normal person, Keith rested his spread palm on Lance's lower back. He wasn't a normal person, after all. His hand was uncomfortably hot against Lance's bare skin, and showed no intentions of moving.

Pidge interrupted Lance's concerted effort to keep breathing steadily in and out through his nose. “...time for this, idiots,” she hissed, thought Lance only caught the tail end of her sentence by the time he'd regained full control of his senses. Keith's hand finally dropped away. “I need to explain what's going to happen.” She reached her arm out in front of her, fingers curled around a small wooden box. When Lance reached out to touch it, she smacked his hand away without hesitation. Wow, she was _strong._

“This is my invention,” she explained, “It's a spell of sorts - I call it a memory box. It's enchanted to hold memories.” Her eyes glinted with devious pride.

“Uh, great?” Lance said blankly. “Thanks for showing us your invention, good job. Any ideas that are actually, y'know, useful?”

Pidge shook her head, looking unreasonably depressed. The look she shot Keith, nodding pointedly at Lance, seemed to say ‘ _this one?_ **_Really_** _?’_

“Let me explain. Now, the main obstacle to your escape,” she jabbed Keith in the chest, “Is this guy. I could pretty easily sneak you out of here during the revels, but in the morning our mother would return, see you missing and ask little Red here where you went and who helped you. Now, I've infiltrated the court rather well, and I refuse to sacrifice that and probably lose my head for the sake of some little knight.”

“He's not a knight, he's a mage,” Keith interjected.

“Actually, I'm an apprentice _to_ a mage,” Lance corrected, embarrassed.

A muscle leapt in Pidge’s jaw. “You're telling me,” she said slowly, “That you're fawning stupidly over a human, and he _isn't even well-born_? That you sacrificed your freedom and your dignity for an _apprentice_?!”

“Yes, I am,” Keith said stonily, before Lance could even react.

 

He hadn't even considered it like that, because Keith being a faery-slash-dragon already felt like a rather large divide between them. Considering class was hardly much of an extra hurdle in the face of that. Now that he thought about it, though, Lance could think of a number of legends about the fair folk having star-crossed romances with human nobility. He couldn't recall any tales about friendships with humans (because that was what he and Keith had. A friendship. His mind had only automatically strayed to romance because historically, those were the only relationships between their two races) but the fact remained that Keith was a prince _,_ and Lance was only one rung above a lowly serf by virtue of his apprenticeship.

Pidge was eyeing Lance with an unreadable expression. Keith's arms were folded tightly as he glared at his sister.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. Keith's expression dared her to say anything else on the subject, so she wisely left it with a roll of her eyes. “Alright, so after I get rid of your stupid servant boy here, I simply take your memories of this whole conversation and of me taking him away, and keep them in this box. I will then do the same with my memories for extra security, after I inform Father’s man of everything that occurred, and give him the box, in case we ever need to retrieve those memories. When she asks you where Lance is, you simply tell her you don't know. It isn't lying if you've forgotten it isn't true.” She winked.

“I have to forget where Lance is?” Keith sounded stricken.

“You haven't heard your mother talking about him, Red. I'm not so sure she won't venture into his realm and retrieve him herself if she ever finds out where he is.”

“When are we doing this thing?” Lance interrupted.

“I'll come for you before sunrise,” Pidge said solemly, before grinning impishly and dashing away.

 

* * *

 

 

They sat in silence for a long time after Pidge left. Lance's head was ringing with her words. He had until sundown. Until sundown to say goodbye to the person who had laid down his life for Lance a dozen times over, before he was to depart and simply resume his life as though they'd never met.

Wasn't this what he wanted?

Neither of them spoke because they didn't know what to say. What was Lance supposed to say? _I_ _don't want to go._ That wasn't strictly true. There was only _one_ thing Lance would miss about this place.  
“I just,” Lance swallowed thickly, “I _just_ told you I wouldn't leave you. And now I'm doing just that. I'm abandoning you just like-” _everyone else you_ _ever trusted_. Lance trailed off aimlessly, feeling that was better left unsaid.

“You're not abandoning me.” Keith stared at a spot on the side of Lance's face until Lance wondered if there was something on his cheek and wiped at it anxiously. “You have to go. I'd prefer anything to you staying here and dying. I'd rather know that you're okay out there somewhere than lose you for real.” 

Lance didn't say anything, couldn't conjure the words. All he could do was stare at the floor and hate that Keith was so resigned to his own loneliness. Lance had been supposed to change that. Some subconscious part of him was convinced that was his job, to drag Keith out of his solitude, to teach him to trust again. To save him from this place. Yet here they were, and he was leaving tomorrow, and Keith would have no one again. _You better look after him_ , Lance mentally told Pidge. Keith might not have needed anyone to look out for him, but he damn well deserved it.

“That shepherd boy, he went to Altea. That's where I'm from,” Lance's mouth blurted randomly, his brain hurrying to catch up.

Keith glanced at him, confused.

“The Queen, she, uh, she told me about you, after you collapsed.”

Keiths lips quirked up. “I know,” he said solemnly. “I heard you. You said: _‘I'm not going to abandon you_.’” He gazed into the distance, smiling. Lance's heart ached for him once more. It was so fucking unfair. What did Keith do to deserve any of this? A broken promise not to abandon him shouldn't make him light up like that. It should take more than that.

“You lived with a shepherd, but he left you. And his father was content to toss you aside and let you rot. He left you, Keith! Just because he wanted to go and try his luck at the big goddamn castle. I live at the castle, too, and I'm going to find him and make him regret it. You didn't deserve to be treated that way, and I'm going to treat him how he de-”

Keith's eyes flickered in surprise. “Shiro? Shiro didn't leave me. He went to try and make a better life… For me. We were starving. His father wanted to ditch the extra mouth to feed that wasn't even family, but Shiro went to the castle instead, left behind everything he had ever known. For me. Without him there was nothing to quench the rumours about me. Everyone knew I was a changeling; bad luck, and the Shiroganes were in league with the devil for sheltering me. _I_ left, not Shiro. I didn't want to soil his family with my strangeness, so I left to keep them safe.”

Lance's jaw hung open. Altea was a small castle town, and Shiro wasn't exactly a common name. He repeated Keith's story over and over in his head. “ _Shiro_? Takashi Shirogane?”

Keith nodded, mute with surprise.

“No, that can't be right. Shiro is King Alfor’s right hand man,” Lance explained. “He commands all the knights. You- you said he was a shepherd. But only nobility can be knighted.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I don't want to leave you here,” Lance begged, fisting his hands in Keith's undershirt and looking away to hide the growing wetness in his eyes. “Come with me, Keith.”

“I can't,” Keith replied miserably. “While the Queen lives I can never be free. She has the power to call for my return across many oceans, let alone from here to Altea."

“I'm working on that,” Pidge muttered irritably. Of the three of them in the cave, she was the only one who even seemed to be in a rush.

Lance kept his eyes fixed between Keith's eyes, unwilling to face him but even more unwilling to look away from his beautiful, beautiful face in the last moments he'd ever see it. “So I just… leave? And never see you again, never know what happened to you.” His voice dropped to only a wistful murmur. “Try to forget about you?”

Keith was clenching his left fist tightly at his side. Lance hated seeing the faery boy so upset, especially over him. He wanted to erase all those lines from Keith's face with his lips, wanted to embrace him so tightly the Queen’s grip on him snapped, wanted to take Keith's slender fingers and uncurl them slowly, unwind all the tension. Only one of those was both achievable and acceptable, so he gently took Keith's hand and prised the fingers apart. What he found was odd. Keith wasn't clenching his fists at all; he was clutching a small stone. Lance frowned at it.

“You'd better give that to him, after all the effort I wasted.” It was Pidge who spoke. Her voice was kinder than Lance was used to. She was clearly aware of Keith's state and was being careful of him, trying to comfort him. Keith nodded at her, his eyes red-rimmed. Lance's own words echoed in his head. _“I'm not going to abandon you.”_ He felt sick.

Keith looked younger than Lance had ever seen him, his eyes wide and tentative as he reached out his hand towards Lance and unfurled his fingers. He stared at Lance with childlike earnestness, fluttering his eyelashes until Lance got the hint and carefully took the stone out of his palm. It flared red, then blue, then suddenly started to shake in Lance's palm. Shake wasn't the right word. It was… Thumping. Like a tiny heart in Lance's fist. Lance had to swallow when he looked up and caught sight of Keith's impossibly fragile smile.

“So you'll know,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “It's my heartbeat.” His gaze fluttered across Lance's face, the tiny stone heart suddenly speeding up.

Lance just stared at him. He didn't know how to respond to that. He didn't know how to deal with _any_ of this. He didn't have time to work it out, either: Pidge was clicking her nails impatiently against the wall. So Lance did the only thing he could think of, and shut his eyes. The heart was thumping against his palm now, fluttering like it was about to sprout wings and fly away. Eyes still closed, close enough to feel Keith breathe, Lance smiled.

Then he pressed his lips quickly to Keith's, and followed Pidge up the stairs. Keith's heartbeat didn't stop pounding in his hand the whole way.

 


	9. The one with some old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance returns to the castle and is reunited with Hunk. He also makes some new friends, and unravels some mysteries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to make it clear that there is no shallura in this fic (*whispers* Allura likes girls) and their relationship is a supportive platonic one that has arisen from working together closely for three years and being eachothers' confidante.

It had been a week since Lance had returned. He knew because he'd been counting. A week since Pidge had taken him to the edge of the servants’ village surrounding the castle and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Lance to wind through the twisted paths in the general direction of the castle that loomed in the distance. Pidge could basically do whatever she wanted without fear of consequences because, since inventing her memory boxes while she was still a young child, she'd earned enough of her mother’s trust not to have restrictive orders placed on her like Keith had. Despite that fact, being missing for the tournament in the morning would be more than a little suspicious, so she didn't have time to waste. She disappeared as soon as she decided there were close enough for Lance to make it home safely.

Lance was left bedraggled and alone. His first instinct had taken him to the castle gates. He was lucky enough to be housed in the castle itself, because he needed to be at Coran’s side at all times. He was already fantasising about falling into his warm bed when the sight of the sentries outside reminded him of the various issues with that idea. Even if he hadn't been missing for weeks, a lot of people came and went between the castle and the village. It was by no means guaranteed that whoever was on the gates would even recognise him, and he didn't adore the idea of spending another night in a cell while they waited for Coran to come and vouch for him in the morning (There was only one person who would dare attempting to wake Coran from his sleep, and that was the Princess).

He also imagined some issues arising even if he did get in, if a maid went into his room, or it was already reoccupied, even. If anyone spotted the boy who they probably presumed dead, suddenly walking around the castle again, there could be some adverse reactions. He stopped, considering the idea that a new apprentice had already been found and taken his old room. What would that mean for Lance? Would Coran want him back and send the poor replacement away? He was naturally powerful, but he was noisy and forgetful, too. If he lost out on his opportunity of a lifetime because he was kidnapped by faeries, he was going to be furious. His mama would be so disappointed…

He clenched his fists, shaking the thought away. His first order of business was getting out of the dark streets and into a warm bed. And when Lance thought warm, there was only one person he thought of-

 _Scratch that,_ he realised, _there were two now._ Only one of them was someone he could ever see again, though. The other, Hunk, was a stable hand, ready to take over as head groom when his mother retired. Visiting royals were often inexplicably surprised and even angered that King Alfor hired a woman to care for his horses. Lance didn't understand that at all - within five minutes of meeting her and seeing her with a horse, it was obvious why anyone who cared about their horses would be desperate for her to take the position. She was an amazing woman, admirable for her joy and intuition and bravery. 

Hunk’s father was a quiet man, working alongside his wife as a blacksmith. The two of them lived in one of the larger servant houses with their three children, a sign of the King's respect. Other than Hunk, there was his younger sister who was apprenticed as a blacksmith under her father, and his baby brother. He also had an older sister who had also trained as a blacksmith and now worked in a neighbouring village, though she often returned to visit when she was in town picking up supplies. Most importantly, the family lived just _outside_ the castle’s impenetrable inner walls,

Which was how and why Lance ended up on Hunk’s doorstep, in the very earliest hours of the morning, half naked and shivering. He remembered Hunk’s look of shock and not much else, because he promptly passed out in his friend's arms. That was a week ago.

  


* * *

 

 

“Coran is very eager for you to get back to training, Lance,” Hunk said pointedly.

Lance burrowed deeper into his bed. After the state in which he'd returned, as well as the fact that he still tensed up and refused to say anything whenever anyone asked what happened, he'd been excused from returning to his training after he first got back. However, Coran’s charity was beginning to wear out as the days stretched by. At least he hadn't replaced Lance yet.

(“But I knew you were still alive, my boy,” he'd gloated, shaking his head at Hunk with a superior huff. Lance sensed an argument between them there, but ignored it. After all he was alive. His heart ached for the fact that Hunk clearly hadn't believed Coran and spent all these days thinking his best friend was dead instead.)

“What's wrong, Lance? You love training! Haven't you missed doing magic?”

Lance snorted. He'd done enough magic for a lifetime in the last week alone. He was almost anxious that Coran would be suspicious of his newfound prowess. That was only one of many reasons he had absolutely no desire to get out of Hunk’s guest bed and make his way to his teacher’s quarters. Upon his return to the real world, all the exhaustion his body had been shunting aside in order to make sure he survived suddenly returned, weighing on him heavily now that he was safe. Also, he was _moping_.

Moping consisted of sleeping a lot, and lying in bed staring blankly at the ceiling even more. He also cried when he was certain no one was around to hear him. It was stupid: he didn't even know what he was crying _for_. Every time he saw the heart-stone sitting in his palm, his chest ached with guilt. He hated that he'd just left Keith there. That didn't stop him from taking the stone everywhere he went - not that he really went anywhere - and sleeping with it clutched in his hands.

He'd established a pattern, a small comfort in the bucket of excrement that made up their situation. Keith's heart was fast and strong in the daytime, keeping his strength up as he fought. Lance prayed that he wasn't being punished for his human companion's disappearance. The near-constant thud of his heart through all the daylight hours was unwelcome evidence to the contrary. The shallow, sluggish flutter during the night time was easily recognisable as sleep. Lance worried for him when he woke up in the night to a surging heartbeat pounding in his sleepily clenched fist. The first time, he'd thought it was the Queen or one of her henchpeople coming in to do something terrible, but once these moments began  to establish themselves with startling regularity, he decided they were nightmares.

That hardly made Lance feel any better. Did Keith have such frequent  nightmares when they shared a cave, or were they new? If they were new, that meant they were Lance's fault. And if they were old, why hadn't Lance noticed and comforted the poor creature while he'd had the chance? He considered leaving the pebble on the nightstand so it wouldn't wake him up, but he gained a bizarre sense of comfort from knowing that at least Keith wasn't suffering alone.

Any time Keith's heartbeat deviated from the pattern, Lance spent the next hour panicking blindly and begging every deity he knew for Keith to be okay. Aside from those rare moments, it was a comfort. He'd grown attached to the small rock. Laying in the darkness, clutching it to his face, and feeling Keith's steady heartbeat against his cheek had become his favourite activity. It was certainly pathetic, but it was the only way he was coping.

‘You can't mope forever,” Hunk said ominously, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh and leaving Lance alone once more.

“Yes I can,” Lance told the air where Hunk had been.  
Moping also consisted of carefully not thinking about the fact that he'd kissed Keith. Lance's stint in faeryland, for the most part, felt more lucid than the rest of his life, but that particular moment felt like it was definitely a dream.

Unfortunately, thinking about not thinking about kissing Keith ultimately led to just thinking about kissing Keith. He groaned and rolled over to plant his face into the pillow. His brain just wouldn't accept that remembering how soft Keith's lips were against his was a bad idea for a dozen different reasons. Reasons like the way the miserable longing curled in his chest like a sleeping snake suddenly reared its head and began to constrict tightly around his heart and throat. He almost wished he'd never done anything, because then at least he wouldn't have this tiny taste to fuel his hopeless desire. But even this was probably better than regretting never showing Keith that he cared for the rest of his life. As it turned out, he cared a lot.

At the time, his brain had screeched to a halt and he'd had the frantic thought that if he left without saying anything Keith might not realise how immensely grateful Lance was for everything he'd done. How do you show the changeling who repeatedly saved your life that you're more than simply ambivalent towards him? In the scrambled seconds he had left, his brain had come to the conclusion: kiss him. That certainly wouldn't leave Keith in any doubt that Lance genuinely cared for him. So he had, in his typical fashion, plunged into Keith's face and taken what he hadn't realised was going to be a souvenir that would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was only once he got back - after a day of sleeping off his exhaustion and slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was alive and everything was normal again - that he began to consider if it meant something that his first impulse had been such a bold one. He lay in his friend’s sister’s old room, staring at the ceiling and wondering, “Do I love Keith?”

Keith was the only reason he even survived his first fight in faeryland. His second fight, too, because he was so close to giving up and letting himself be crabbed to death when he suddenly pictured Keith waiting endlessly for him to return, forever disappointed and alone once more. He couldn't leave Keith alone again; Keith who brought a rabbit back to life for him and tried to impress him by growing a blackberry plant in his palm. Keith who hated the taste of blood but always ended up covered in it, whether from fighting for his life, from hunting, or from fussing over a wounded Lance like an overgrown mother hen. Keith who was so isolated from humans he'd forgotten that they shivered when they were cold, but still worried enough to bring back a bundle of dry grass for Lance to sleep on.

The only answer he had been able to come up with was ‘ _it doesn't matter anyway.'_

 

* * *

 

 

“Why the sudden interest in The Folk?” Coran asked suspiciously.

Lance had finally returned to his studies after a week of sulking, and apparently he hadn't been as subtle as he thought with his questioning. He wanted to know if it was true being in the human realm really made changelings sick, if the Seelie were benevolent or just not outright evil, how to undo unseelie curses, if there was a way to escape someone who knew your true name. Peppering these questions through a stream of other things he had no desire to actually learn about hadn't hidden from his teacher's eagle eye the fact that he must have a certain degree of knowledge about fae in the first place just to be able to ask these questions - questions he'd never asked before, knowledge that he'd never had before.

“Do you have something to tell me about where you've been, Lance?” Coran suggested, when Lance didn't reply.

“Would you believe me if I did?” Lance countered.

Coran searched his apprentice’s face, eyes shining with gold. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “I can sense your honesty and your memories feel sound. What is it, my boy?”

So Coran listened silently as Lance spilled his guts. He simply sat with his arms in his lap as Lance talked on and in about dragons and changelings and an evil queen and faery death tournaments and the half-seelie boy who saved him; leaving out the part where Lance kissed him.  
“He's not _a_ human but he's still human and I have to figure out some way to get him out. I just left him there. I failed him,” Lance finished lamely, hand clutching for the heart-stone that fluttered in his pocket and tentatively offering it to Coran as evidence. He felt protective and anxious as his teacher turned the stone over in his fist, strongly relieved once he handed it back. It felt like a private, personal thing all of a sudden. Quickly stuffing the stone safely back into his pocket, he thumbed it for comfort until his own heartbeat returned to normal.

Predictably, Lance's tutor was most interested in the magic. Lance's new talent, in particular.

“This transferable life force business, do you think you could show me?” he asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair towards Lance with a fascinated expression.

Lance recoiled. “I'm not really comfortable with that,” he muttered. “I've only ever done it in emergencies and…” He floundered for the words to explain that he didn't want to do it to anyone but Keith, without sounding odd. Thankfully, the mage pulled away and nodded understandingly.

“I'd love to study this some more, if you'll let me. At the present moment, you must have a lot on your mind and I don't want to add another pressure.”

Everything he'd been holding in all week was no longer pressing into his chest like a stone weight. Lance deflated. It was an unspeakable relief to finally get it off his chest, and have someone believe him and sympathise with what he'd been through. All he really wanted was for Keith not to be stuck in that place - and failing that for Hunk to help nurse his broken heart - but finally verbalising everything was a blissful respite from the crushing, isolated guilt he'd been feeling since he left Keith.

Talking to Coran reminded him of something. A mystery - and an unpaid debt. One thing that he could actually fix. As a simple apprentice, Lance had a very negligible chance of even getting the Captain of the Guard to even look his way. But Coran had been the Princess’ family physician since before she was born - he was like a second father to her. In turn, Allura spent a lot of time with Shiro as, in her father's old age, she commanded the knights and was responsible for keeping the kingdom safe and secure. If Lance had any chance of getting a meeting with Shiro, it was through Coran.

 

“One other thing. I need you to get Sir Shirogane to meet with me, alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't that Lance had never seen Sir Shirogane before. He sometimes came to the stables when Lance was spending his free time with Hunk, and Lance had seen him in various parts of the castle before, going about his business. But up close he was a hulk of a man, the muscles of his arms straining against the undershirt he wore, clearly fresh from training. Aside from the unnaturally strong fae whose company Lance had kept lately, Shiro was probably the strongest person Lance had ever encountered. He also happened to be the best swordsman in the kingdom. None of this helped quell Lance's anxiety.

The knight stared down at him.

“You're Coran’s apprentice?” he enquired, ducking behind a pillar in the abandoned courtyard as everyone else headed to the banquet hall for luncheon. “The one who wanted to speak with me?”

Lance fixed his eyes on where Shiro’s shock of white hair curled against his temple, unable to meet his eyes.

“Y-yes, Sir,” he nodded earnestly.

“Well, be quick about it - I have a lot of duties to get to. What is it?” He spoke softly and kindly, clearly pitying Lance's complete terror before someone of such authority. It was odd, how the commander of every knight at the castle treated him with more respect than the lowly squires did.

There lay the issue. Lance hadn't planned what he would even say if he did get an audience with the Captain of the Guard, and was only now realising that he had no idea what to say. Blurting a random line about changelings and common birth would be a surefire way to get himself branded a lunatic and get ignored. Instead he settled for, “I know Keith,” and immediately winced at the present tense. _Knew_ , he reminded himself, he _knew_ Keith.  
Shiro’s reaction was instantaneous. His formal, commanding posture collapsed and his eyes widened comically as he lurched forward, putting his hands on Lance's shoulders and looking like it was taking every inch of his willpower not to shake Lance like a ragdoll. “You know Keith? Where is he? Is he okay? Tell me what happened to him!”

“Uhh…” Lance racked his brain frantically. Their location may be abandoned, but it wasn't as reassuring as an utterly private chamber, and he was in no way eager to recount his improbable tale once more to a virtual stranger. It was one thing claiming to know Keith, easily evidenced by the fact that he knew Keith's name and connection to Shiro, but the rest of the story was much less believable and much less easily proved. “Those are difficult questions to answer. He isn't _dead_ , but he is… not in an ideal situation. He's - he went back where he came from,” Lance said meaningfully.

He didn't expect Shiro’s blank expression. “Where _did_ he come from?” the knight asked innocently. “None of us ever knew, not even him. I found him on the edge of the woods. Did he… Did he find his parents?” Shiro sounded hopeful, face falling when he remembered Lance saying that Keith's situation wasn't a good one.

“He found his mother, yes," Lance mumbled. "I… I don't understand. Keith said everyone knew he was a changeling.”

Shiro’s frown deepened, uncomprehending. “That was just a nasty rumour.” He sighed, a world of unspoken painful memories behind that simple sound. “Keith was… An odd child. He never meant anything but well, but he just- he never fit in with the village children. He excelled at everything he tried: he could beat a child twice his age in a scrap. He became obsessed with righteousness, and he got on the wrong side of a gang of young men who often terrorised the market, stealing and demanding bribes from stallholders and the like. Keith hated to see anyone innocent and defenceless being taken advantage of, so he fought all three of them and humiliated them in the market square. He must've been thirteen - a child. He took on three men like it was nothing.”

Shiro sighed again, clenching his fists. Lance felt surprise, then amazement, and finally a strong, possessive pride swelling through him. _That was his Keith_. Taking on three men twice his age sounded exactly like something Keith would do. It wasn't because he beat them that Lance felt his heart swell with adoration, it was because even as a child, he saw innocent people being treated unfairly and simply couldn't ignore it. Shiro, when Lance finally snapped out of his _possibly_ -lovesick reverie, looked angry and distressed. His expression was a warning to Lance to brace himself for whatever Shiro said next, because he wasn't wearing the face of someone fondly reminiscing any more.

“He helped them, and they rejected him. People who knew him always quietly thought of him as a strange boy, but suddenly he was the center of attention. Some people were jealous, some felt threatened - as though he would ever target anyone innocent - and I suppose some people were simply gossips. The rumour probably came from one of those boys or their family. But everyone believed it. He just didn't understand - the other children shunned him even worse than before, and no one would so much as look at him when he walked by. He didn't understand,” Shiro repeated tightly, “Why they would hate him so much when all he wanted was to help them. I think he started to believe the rumour, too, because that's what he said, in the letter: ‘Everyone knows I'm cursed.’ ‘I have to leave to protect you and Father.’”

Shiro looked like he wanted to say more, but his eyes were watering and his chest rising and falling heavily, rendering him unable to continue. Lance was deeply uncomfortable seeing Altea’s champion in such a state, but not half as uncomfortable as he was hearing about Keith's cruel past when he couldn't even tug the faery boy into his arms and comfort him. He wanted to find Keith's old village and burn it to the ground, a dizzying and unfamiliar anger overtaking him for a moment.

It subsided, leaving him blank and empty. That was why he blurted mindlessly, “How did you not notice? He's got pointy ears!”

“I knew him for more than ten years, in which time he definitely didn't have pointy ears.” Shiro suddenly tensed. “Who are you? How do you even know Keith?” His sword was drawn in an instant. Lance yelped at the touch of cold metal to his throat.

“Hey! I'm trying to-”

“I don't remember seeing you around the village, but if this is some sick joke to you, tracking me down and pretending to have found my brother just to toy with me-” His chest jerked, his eyes widening in sudden panic. “If you tell anyone where I come from, you will find yourself at the other end of the Princess's sword, and that is not somewhere you ever want to be,” he growled.

Lance groaned. How did he always land himself in these situations? Now Shiro thought Lance was someone from his old village who'd found out where he was and come to expose him. “I'm not going to expose you! And I definitely don't have anything bad to say about Keith. _He saved my life_!” Lance's eyes shone with blue magic and he was suddenly pathetically grateful to his newfound magical skill for allowing him to calm down the angry and well-armed knight who was currently threatening him with a sword. As Shiro relaxed and drew back, Lance continued, “I'm telling the _truth_. If you don't believe me you can march me into Coran’s quarters and ask him - and you know his magic can detect lies. Keith is a changeling, and he's trapped in the Unseelie Court - those are the evil ones, by the way.” He quickly decided not to mention the fact that Shiro’s brother was also, sometimes, a dragon. Baby steps.

He wondered at the fact that Shiro called him _brother_. Lance knew Keith had lived with Shiro and his father since he was quite young, but he hadn't realised just how close they'd been. Keith clearly looked up to Shiro, especially when he found out Shiro’s new occupation, but Lance hadn't realised that Keith had left someone he called a brother to escape the merciless rumours.

Shiro stared at him, wide-eyed. “I believe you. So what's your plan?”

“What?”

Shiro looked exasperated. “I assume, since you went to all this effort to find me, that you have a plan to free him that you need my help with,” he suggested mildly. When Lance shook his head, Shiro’s eyes flared with brief irritation that dissipated into pure disbelief.

“I just… He's all alone and you were the only person who was ever there for him. I wanted you to know what happened. He cares about you a lot.” Lance looked up nervously through his eyelashes, adding, “I was also incredibly curious about how on Earth you landed such a position with your background.”

Shiro groaned loudly. 

 

* * *

 

 

Princess Allura was almost threateningly beautiful up close. Lance struggled to decide if she really did remind him of Keith, or if was just the simple fact that they were to two most perfect people he'd ever seen and his brain found that a good enough reason to group them together. No, he decided, there was definitely something pointed about her, a luminescent sheen to her blue eyes and unnaturally white hair.

He was only half listening to the story she recounted to him, her voice lilting and hypnotic in a way Keith's never was. She explained how, when she was younger and more irresponsible, she would sneak out of the castle in disguise to bet on street fights. Lance, only aware of the image of the Princess as a reserved and serious figure, was taken aback. She grinned cheekily when she said it, and the expression was so at home on her face that Lance didn't doubt her rebellious streak at all now he'd discovered it. It made him wonder if she felt constrained by her increasing responsibilities at the castle, though she clearly took them very seriously.  
“I would rather use my position to help the innocent and defenceless than to make my own life easier,” she said seriously: Lance realised he'd spoken aloud. 

He blushed at his own boldness, though Allura seemed unruffled. The parallels between her and Keith struck Lance once more, though she was easily the more refined of the two and - aside from her previous _excursions_ \- clearly solved problems with diplomacy and strategy, not by getting into fights on the street. (Though apparently she did love to watch them).  
She continued, explaining how she'd stayed later than usual because she couldn't resist staying to help a wounded young fighter whose only companion had left him in the dirt, disgusted at his failure. Lance was struck, once again, by their similarities. Risking himself to heal someone he barely knew seemed to be one of Keith's defining characteristics at this point.

“I know a little healing magic,” she explained, nodding towards Lance. “You have the gift, too, I believe. Coran says you are the most talented student he has encountered in a while. He taught me as well, when I was rather young. Unfortunately, my magic refuses to cause harm, so it is rather useless as a defense. This young man was defenseless, and those streets aren't a nice place to linger, so I offered my aid.”

“That was Sir Shirogane?” Lance guessed, chest puffing up in pride at his own deduction skills.

Shiro snorted, an ignoble noise. “Shiro, please. A friend of Keith's is a friend of mine.” Lance felt a bolt of jealousy, that Keith was in such high standing with _Takashi Shirogane_. He reminded himself with a small frown that, in his current situation, there was _very_ little to be jealous of Keith for, and having such notions was ridiculous and unhelpful. Instead, he focused on his own pride at earning such an honour from the third most important person in Altea. “And that was  certainly _not_ me,” Shiro added firmly. “I would never engage in such immoral, disreputable activities. And if I had, I would have won,” he finished smugly, though he shot Allura a pointed look when he condemned street fighting - it was clearly a point of dispute between them.

“No,” Allura agreed, “Shiro and was the one who defended me. A group of thieves - the violent kind, who doesn't like to leave witnesses - approached me while I was caught off guard. I was weakened from helping the injured boy, unarmed, and still on the ground beside him. I had already said farewell to everything in my life when Shiro approached the attackers from behind and disarmed them. I've never seen anyone move so quickly, or so fearlessly. He approached three people with knives and had them all neutralised in seconds - to aid a stranger who may well have turned around and betrayed him.”

Her eyes shone with pride. “That, I decided, was someone I wanted working for me. There are plenty of excellent swordsmen paraded before me at the games, always trying to earn my endorsement and become a knight. They all have the same strategies! The same four master swordsmen are hired throughout the kingdom by every noble wanting to make their son worthy. Shiro is a strategist, but a benevolent one. I have no want for heartlessness in the kingdom I will eventually rule. Granted, he was awful with a sword at first. But he could still overturn any of my knights with ease because he fights in a very unique way, and every move is a surprise to our enemies, who once easily unwound all of our strategies.” Lance zoned out on the fighting talk, uncomprehending, but he understood enough to know that Shiro was an incredibly talented warrior.

“But, the law! He isn't of noble birth,” Lance blurted, stricken when he considered that perhaps Shiro had fooled Allura about that as well. She simply nodded, causing Lance to breathe a sigh of relief.

 “Indeed. After much consideration, I found no sensible reason behind that law, and I fully intend to demolish it in due time,” she said, stubbornness peeking out through her calm demeanor. “It was a simple matter to have Coran forge some paperwork. Shiro didn't struggle at all to earn the respect and approval of his fellow knights, and Father. In fact, his appointment was what convinced my father I was mature enough to take on my defensive duties commanding our armies.”

Her dismissive tone surprised and amused Lance. He liked this stubborn, rule-bending princess much more than the fierce, stern one he'd assumed she was. It was well known how fond all the knights were of her, but Lance didn't think he had much in common with them when it came to what he looked for in a person.

“That's our story,” Shiro said calmly. “Now why don't you tell us yours?”

 

* * *

 


	10. The one where Keith learns a new skill.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets an instructor sent by the seelie king, and Lance uncovers a shocking secret.

“You love him.”

 

Pidge watched gleefully as Keith’s face wrinkled in irritation, his mouth opening and closing over and over like a disgustingly lovesick goldfish. He may have been unable to lie, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. “Maybe,” he said eventually. _Maybe_ had become his favourite word of late - maybe didn’t mean yes, but it didn’t mean no. _Maybe_ saved him the humiliation of having to admit aloud just how stupid his situation was. “Did you find anything?”

Pidge grinned fiercely. She brandished something that had Keith leaning forward desperately, his bare feet scrabbling against the dirt as he snatched it impatiently out of her hands. At this stage, he was willing to kill for any tiny clue as to how and where Lance had disappeared to. After Lance had disappeared and left absolutely nothing behind, Keith would do absolutely anything just to find out if Lance was okay. Whatever Pidge had found, he was pathetically desperate for the clues it may yield.

He turned the object over in his hands, puzzled. It appeared to be nothing more than a simple wooden box, but Pidge looked as smug as a cat bringing a dead mouse to its owner as she watched him examine it.  
“What is this?” he growled, angrier than he deserved to be towards someone who was trying to help him, but unable to care.

“The Queen definitely isn’t asking about Lance anymore?” Pidge asked, taking the box from him in one fluid motion before he could resist. “She can’t know about this.”

Keith nodded, face scrunching up in irritation. No-one had helped Lance - she’d interrogated the entire court and no one knew _anything_ . There was simply no way he could’ve survived. That was what she believed, anyway. Keith refused to accept that; _couldn’t_ accept it. After a week or so had passed and none of her scouts found Lance in the woods or caught him trying to escape the little pocket of faeryland they’d created there, she grew tired. Without knowledge of the realm, it was no easy task to get out of this place. A guideless human would simple circle and circle endlessly, invisible barriers reflecting them into the same clearing forever until they collapsed from exhaustion, thirst, or madness.

“She could hardly believe me when I said I didn’t help him escape. She asked me the same thing for days, phrasing it every way you could imagine, until she realised I was clueless. She didn’t even seem disappointed that he was gone. She seemed _relieved_ \- she barely even made me grovel before she let me out of that awful dungeon,” he recounted dutifully.

Pidge chuckled. “Well, of _course_. If she had him killed, you would’ve had such a troublesome temper tantrum and hated her even more. This way, he took care of himself and you can’t even blame her.” Keith wished for a moment that he was still in his dragon form, all the better to incinerate her for speaking so casually about Lance’s _supposed_ demise.

“Are you just here to gloat?” he hissed.

“Oh, I almost forgot! No, I’m not. I thought it was time you got your memories back.” Keith just raised an eyebrow - Pidge was always cryptic. Her eyes shone with a powerful green as she lifted the lid of the box, releasing a tangle of red and blue light, which flew straight towards Keith and dived underneath his skin with enough physical force to make him grunt.

His head felt heavy suddenly, visions dancing across the backs of his eyelids almost too hurriedly to make out before settling comfortably in a hole he hadn’t even realised was there, a little gap in his memories small enough to miss easily. How could he have forgotten? How could Pidge not have-

“You hedge born _doxy_!” he screeched, grabbing a fistful of her robe. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew where he was this whole time? Why didn’t you tell me that _he kissed me?_ I’m going to skin you alive, you little-”

 

* * *

 

  


After Keith calmed down enough to stop threatening to murder his sister, Pidge went right back to mercilessly teasing him.

“I realise now that I may have been unfair on you,” he said dully. “You couldn’t have let me have my memories back any sooner, because I wouldn’t have been able to lie to the Queen if you did. You still could’ve found a way to tell me that _he kissed me_ ,” he added sullenly.

“You’re definitely fixating on that part,” Pidge observed. “There’s a lot of other things going on that you need to be aware of, Red.”  
Keith sighed. Even just the use of his alias made him homesick for Lance, for the way he used Keith’s true name so casually, being unaware of its power the way no fae ever was. He hadn’t been homesick in a long time, not since he first fled the farming village where he spent most of his childhood. It was a feeling warmer than most things he felt in this place simply because it implied that he must’ve at least _had_ a home at some point in order to be missing it.

“We need you to be careful,” Pidge was saying boredly. “You’re absolutely useless, harmful to the mission even, if your mother gets control of you during the battle. Luckily for you, Father isn’t so keen on losing his heir, which is why he wants you safe.”

“You’re an heir, though,” Keith frowned. A much better one, too, fully acclimatised to the ways of the fae without her wits, intellect, and leadership blunted by years in the human realm. If re-instating a better Unseelie ruler was his mysterious father’s goal, Pidge seemed like the perfect choice. She had the blood right, of course, and everyone already knew and respected her at court so earning control over them would be easy… if they managed to destroy the current leader.

“The more the merrier. Father isn’t like the faeries you’re used to, Red. He wants you safe because he wants to meet his son,” Pidge said. Her face softened, her hand resting on his shoulder. “I know you don’t like it here, that you miss the way humans are. Seelie fae just aren’t like that at all. He’s interested in your experiences of the human world, though I don’t know what he plans to do with the knowledge. He just likes learning for learning’s sake, and he’s ever so curious about the humans; he was so disappointed not to meet your Lance. Apparently shapeshifting is a dying art, too. I know you got that from our father’s side, but I just assumed it was more common in the seelie court.”

Keith’s eyes widened as he tried to process all the new information Pidge gave him in such a short time. He clung to the concept that his father might truly be good enough to balance out all the evil in him. Or at least _some_ of it. He also understood from Pidge’s words that she must have met with their father, multiple times even, and felt a surge of longing. Pidge seemed to like him, and Keith trusted Pidge's judgement - for the most part. Would this finally be the place he belonged? His idiot brain kept insisting that where he belonged was _with Lance_ , but Lance was fragile and human and _gone_. Maybe he just needed to be with his own kind.

 

“Are you still listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, I-” Keith struggled to recover from his moping, “Just thinking.”

“I can smell your denial from here,” Pidge groaned. “Why won't you just admit you love him?”

He stared at her like she'd grown another head. “Because I can never see him again!” Frustration was heavy in his face and his voice, palms upturned in a very aggressive shrug. “He- It's not meant to be for-for so many reasons. I just have to move on and forget about it. I don't even-” he paused, making choking noises that earned him a raised eyebrow from Pidge. He hadn’t lamented not being able to lie so much since he’d been unable to apologise for pushing over a village boy who’d been hitting an unattended fawn with a stick. It was difficult for him to apologise when he wasn't _sorry_. The boy’s mother didn't seem to understand that, and had been furious. He felt the reminiscent ache of the way she'd cuffed him around the ear for his insolence.

“ _Whatever_ ,” he snarled, “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Obviously no unseelie fae can actually hurt her, and the court is closely shielded from seelie eyes. I’ve been doing some investigations, and there’s only a very small number who are actually loyal and aren’t just under her control. That means the only real issue is the Queen," Pidge said casually, as though killing her wasn't something Keith would've done months ago if he'd been able. "Your job is easy; you just have to put on a good show to keep her distracted while I, and whoever Father sends, take her out.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Keith wondered. She might have found his fighting somewhat amusing, but did she find it diverting enough to be so riveted she wouldn’t notice an armed assassin creeping up behind her?

“My vote was to have you rip Lance apart, but I was outvoted,” Pidge said mournfully. “What? It would be a good show!”

“If you talk about him like that one more time,” Keith said slowly, taken aback by his own primal growl, “I’ll rip you apart. If any part of this plan puts him in danger you can count me firmly out.”

He was unable to continue, shaken by a wave of indescribable _something_ washing over him. It bubbled out of his heart, affection and protectiveness and irritation combined that slowly flooded through his entire body. It dragged him to his knees before he could come to his senses, humbled by the fierceness of the emotions that enveloped him.

 

“What just happened?” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

“You better not be doing anything dangerous,” Lance told the small stone in his hands after it awoke him with a sudden surge of activity. A different energy radiated from it than that of a nightmare, though. He’d taken to probing it with his magic, at Coran’s suggestion, following the thread that connected it to Keith down as far as he dared and feeling for whispers of emotion. He allowed to stream of red magic to carry him further than he’d ever done before, chest thudding with the need to know that Keith was okay. He swore he could feel Keith’s blood pumping around him before he finally forced himself to pull away and swim back to reality.

He was finally back in his own bed in the castle, now that his training had begun once more. It made meeting with Allura and Shiro more convenient, but he did miss Hunk more than he wanted to admit. Even castle banquets didn't replace Hunk's pancakes, served with the eggs from the stable hens, and most of the time, Lance wasn't even at luncheon anyway. Noon was just when Coran hit his magical stride, and usually he made Lance stay behind with a bowl of his questionable broth instead. Abandoning and returning to projects after a meal just didn't seem to be in his tutor's rulebook.

Yesterday, Lance had explained Keith’s predicament. Allura had been concerned and upset, but it was Shiro who was completely stricken. Lance was surprised Allura reacted strongly at all, having never even met Keith. He was quickly discovering how easily her compassion flowed in the face of injustice. Shiro’s reaction had been harder to watch: he’d been inconsolable for hours, it seemed. On a mission to fetch some herbs from the gardens, Lance had seen him patrolling the castle with an uncharacteristic scowl staining his face. It was still there when they met once more in the courtyard to fruitlessly discuss plans and for Shiro to hold the stone that proved Keith was okay while Lance fidgeted uncomfortably until it was returned.

 In light of Lance's story, Allura had cautiously revealed a secret of her own. She'd insisted they go somewhere less exposed, and Lance had suggested returning to the quarters he shared with his teacher. When he said _shared_ , what he meant was that Coran had a room for storing his ingredients, a bedroom, a laboratory, a room for entertaining guests and treating patients, and a cluttered library in the corner of which Lance was permitted to sleep.

Allura arrived later, not keen for them to be seen entering private quarters together and telling Lance that she and Shiro would find him shortly. Coran led her into Lance's chamber, looking oddly guilty, followed by Shiro. The mage shared a knowing look with the princess, then disappeared to fetch tea for everyone. (The only tea he seemed to be able to make was disgusting and green, and he reacted with utmost disappointment if anyone ever refused to drink it.)

“I have something to tell you both,” Allura had sighed, launching into an unfrilled explanation of her own secret parentage, bluntly admitting that she was in fact the granddaughter of a seelie faery herself. Judging by his reaction, that had been news to Shiro, too. They were both sworn to secrecy; the village people's reaction to Keith was an ominous indication of how they would feel if they discovered the faery blood in the Crown Princess of the entire kingdom.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Allura added softly. “I would’ve told you if I could’ve been sure you would have believed me.” Her shoulders sank. Lance wondered how that must’ve felt, growing up with a secret that she knew could destroy the entire system their kingdom ran on. At least she wasn’t a changeling. The thought reminded him of Keith - as many things did, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

Allura’s mother had died young. It was long enough ago that Lance didn’t remember finding out the news, had grown up in a kingdom without a queen. The news that Allura’s mother was in fact half seelie had Lance’s brain whirring, stories of changelings and sickness spiralling rapidly in his thoughts. “I apologise for being so forward, but- your mother… Was it harmful to her, living here?”

Allura’s face shuttered. “No,” she said. “Her illness was entirely human.” Her unwavering stare at the ground told Lance to quickly change the subject.

It did mean Lance suddenly felt marginally less helpless. Allura may have been only a little more knowledgeable than Lance himself, having only the knowledge her grandmother passed on, but she was still a link to the faery world and an ally in the messy entanglement Lance was involved in now. She, too, seemed excited at the prospect of reconnecting to her culture, and was disappointed when Lance admitted that he had no idea how to so much as contact anyone from the Seelie court.

Coran had made an uncomfortable noise at that and quickly ushered everyone out of his quarters. “You look tired, Princess,” he observed, ordering her to get some rest in the same voice he used on every sick person that came through his door - common or noble. His presence throughout her childhood definitely seemed to have influenced the kind, humble young woman she was today.

 

 

Snapping out of his thoughts, Lance turned the stone over in his fingers, watching the soft light inside it flickering red and blue. He hoped Pidge was looking after Keith for him, like she promised. “Be safe,” he whispered, feeling silly as he pressed the stone to his lips. “Don't do anything stupid.”

 

* * *

 

 

“This is _stupid_.”

“Keith!” Pidge said warningly. “Don’t be rude.”

The young woman accompanying behind Pidge ducked her head. The large rings in her ears swung with the movement, attracting Keith’s gaze. His eyes lingered on the dangling rings of rock, avoiding the stranger’s eyes.  
“It is all right, Princess. It’s an honour to be of help to the resistance. The young prince is only frustrated,” she said meekly.

“Don’t call me that!” Pidge and Keith snapped in unison. They shared a look, before Pidge burst into giggles and Keith huffed, folding his arms and turning away. “Keith is sorry for his disrespect of your valuable insight, Shay,” Pidge said firmly, glaring at Keith until he nodded reluctantly.

“It is really not a problem,” Shay insisted. “I understand it is frustrating for you, not being able to master this.” She had a kind smile, though her eyes shone an eerie yellow that made Keith uneasy. It reminded him of too many of the monsters he’d fought; the colour of barely contained power lingering just below the surface. He relaxed at the soft lilt of her voice, and the unspoken threat of Pidge’s fierce green eyes on him.

“Try again,” Shay said calmly, her hand cool as rock on Keith’s arm. “Visualize the magic surrounding you - it contains you, not the other way around.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, picturing a person-shaped blob of red like he was instructed. Flashes of blue danced across his eyelids, but he ignored them stubbornly. _It contains you_ , he repeated in his mind, focusing on the dazzling red and ignoring any stray flashes of anything else, _not the other way around_. The blue shone brighter, insistently provoking his attention. Grudgingly, he allowed it to weave its way through the faceless mask of red that surrounded him. It was playful, skipping circles through the inanimate redness. A fond smile edged its way onto Keith’s face as he watched it. It clearly didn’t care to behave like the rest of the magic, but Keith found himself not minding.

“Good!” Shay beamed, sounding pleased. “I can feel you connecting to your energy. This is the best you’ve managed all day.”

Unwilling to open his eyes and lose sight of the dancing streaks of blue, Keith nodded in her general direction. “What do I do now?” he murmured.

“Try and move the magic around you,” she suggested. “Try to guide it in a new direction, open a channel and let it flow through naturally.” She paused, making a thoughtful sound, before suggesting Keith start with something easy and try making his nose longer. They still didn’t know how much the give the curse would allow before it snapped back into place around Keith like the taut string of a bow. Their goal was simply to find the most shocking, attention-grabbing thing he could do withing the limits of the curse. Shay guided him through it as before, into picturing his face as he wanted it to change, feeling the slope of the magic. He felt a little embarrassed, partly for struggling so much with such a tiny change and partly for how ridiculous he would probably look with such an enlarged nose.

He forced his brain to picture the slightly adjusted image of himself, trying to conjure the picture of a nose that wasn’t _too_ bulbous. His brain helpfully provided one. The image came more easily than he expected, settling it over his real nose in his mind's eye. It wasn’t too horrifying an image. The nose itself was strangely pretty for a nose, though Keith had never found himself having an opinion on disembodied noses before. The only problem was that his uncooperative brain insisted on making the nose a darker shade than the rest of his face, making it stand out oddly. Why would he invent a nose in his own mind, and then make it all wrong for his face like that?

 

Suddenly, a face flashed in his mind, springing out from around that stupid, disloyal nose. He lost sight of the red magic he'd been picturing and cursed in frustration.

 

“Prince?” said a cautious voice.

Keith’s eyelids fluttered open, finally. _Great._  He’d gotten distracted (by Lance, again) and completely failed. When was his treacherous heart going to give up on Lance and let him get on with actually being of value to the resistance? His eyes met a pair of round hazel ones, right in front of his face. Pidge’s mouth was hanging open in comic awe, her green-brown eyes opening and closing in confusion, like she was trying to blink away retina spots after gazing at the sun.

“Sorry,” he muttered dejectedly, “I failed.” His voice sounded a little higher and tinnier to his ears. How much energy had he wasted on this pointless exercise? That wasn’t right, though. His voice didn’t sound exhausted. If anything, he sounded _more_ exuberant than usual.

“Not quite,” Pidge said excitedly.

Shay cupped a small pool of water in her hands, the surface still and glassy. It didn’t run out between her fingers the way it would if he or Pidge held it. Her huge, rocky hands sealed the tiny puddle in seamlessly. It was clear enough to reflect the ceiling of the cave, clean rainwater collected in the cavities on the jutting edge of the cavern floor. Before Keith could react, Pidge placed her hand on his back and shoved him forwards, showing him his own reflection gazing at him in shock inside Shay’s clasped palms.

 

“ _Lance_?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys, probably: where the hell is matt?  
> me, rubbing my hands with knuckle tattoos on that spell 'plot twist' together: ...


	11. the one with lots and lots of magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets an aquaintance of Pidge's who happens to look just like her, and Lance worries about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that I basically skip over all the fight/action parts in this chapter. I'm assuming that you guys are reading this for the human (and non human) interactions, rather than my unenthusiastic descriptions of gory stuff? The plot is unharmed but I didn't have the motivation to write another couple of k in fighting scenes.  
> Thanks for continuing to support me! Let me know what you think in the comments.

“How do I undo this,” Keith said miserably, tone flat. Even his own face was conspiring to remind him of what he’d lost, not that he’d had or ever could have it in the first place. That didn't make the image sting any less. Pidge, of course, thought this was the most entertaining event of the decade. From where she was bent double with her hands braced on her knees, the whole chamber rang out with obnoxious giggles.

Shay's reaction was much less grating. Not understanding the significance of the particular face Keith was wearing, she shot Pidge a confused look. Her expression was pleased and open, genuine pride radiating from her grin. Keith wasn't used to people being proud of him.  
“Excellent!” she praised him. “You managed to get right on to transforming your entire face! You’re a star pupil,” she added warmly. Her grip started to relax, the water trickling away. Keith stared as it disappeared, the image of Lance slowly draining away a little too painful of a metaphor just then. He was numb and pliant as she inspected the rest of his body to see if his transformation skills extended this far.

Sure enough, Keith’s hands were darker and calloused in ways his real hands weren’t. Despite his active lifestyle, Keith’s palms were soft and smooth. He’d never really noticed or thought about it before, but he realised that he very rarely did anything harsh with his hands - not in the form that had hands like this, anyway. He wrinkled his nose; Lance was training to be a mage, but his hands spoke of manual labour.  Lance talked about his family whenever he could, so Keith knew that he'd grown up in a hamlet outside Altea, and his hands probably looked like that from farmwork. It was strange to imagine such an elegant figure with his back hunched over a pile of dung, especially when he had such power dormant inside him. Privately, Keith thought Lance belonged somewhere special, where everyone was well aware of how excellent he was in so many ways.  

He had lovely hands. The fact that Keith had conjured the image of them meant he must have noticed that before, if subconsciously. They made Keith feel self-conscious about a feature he’d almost never paid any attention to before. Long and slender fingers were tipped with clean, even nails. Keith’s own nails were dirty and ragged, often bleeding from being bitten or picked at or used in a fight, and his fingers were short and stubby in comparison to Lance's. There was a smattering of freckles across the wrist where he didn't know freckles could form. Keith was embarrassed that he remembered Lance’s hands so well. He was also curious if freckles were found elsewhere, along his arms and legs. Perhaps, when he'd been in the sun, they emerged like dark snowflakes across his abdomen.

Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Even when he looked up from his hands, aware of Pidge’s eyes on him, the feeling didn’t subside. Neither did Pidge’s gaze - clearly judging him for his close and awed inspection of Lance’s hands.

“I think he’ll be ready very soon, Your Highness,” Shay told Pidge.

For once, Pidge ignored the uncomfortable title. Her eyes glinted as she turned to leer at her brother.

Oh no. Keith knew that look, and it meant that he was about to have to do something dangerous and stupid, while Pidge stood at the side and watched him getting his hands dirty.

"Why don't I show you what the Seelie King looks like," she chirped, her hands coming to rest at his temples before he could stop her.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Lance screamed into his pillow. This was the third morning in a row he had woken up red-faced and surprised to be alone. He tried to wipe the dream from his brain, tried to forget the familiar feeling of a cold stone floor against his back and the unfamiliar slide of Keith’s lips against his. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, then immediately felt bad for bringing Jesus into this. His mother would be horrified. As penance, he banged his head against the headboard and came away with a mild headache. Served his treacherous head right.

 

“Are you alright in there, lad?” Coran’s voice rang out cheerfully from the adjacent room.

  
“No,” Lance answered sullenly.

He should’ve kept his mouth shut: a few moments later, Coran appeared in the doorway with two cups of his awful tea and a sympathetic smile. He probably thought that some tea would be just the comfort Lance needed when in reality all it meant was that now he had to repress his longing for Keith _and_ his complete and utter hatred of Coran’s disgusting brew. Uninvited, the mage took a seat on Lance’s bed and patted his leg awkwardly.

“Thanks.” Lance smiled fakely as Coran offered him a mug.

“What’s troubling you, then?” he asked, ignoring Lance’s grimace as he sipped his tea. In response, Lance silently handed him the rock Keith had given him. It wasn’t much of an answer, but he hoped interest in the gadget would distract his tutor from his interrogation.

“Oh, is this about you faery boy? He’s quite th- Oh _my_.” Coran’s eyebrows rose comically high as his fingers closed around the stone, a very odd expression settled across his face. Lance couldn’t place it exactly. Somehow, he seemed shocked, impressed, overwhelmed, and amused. Lance immediately scowled at him and snatched the stone back, suspicious of Coran’s inexplicable expression.

“Well, that’s. That’s quite some emotion coming out of your friend here. I wouldn’t try that,” he warned, reaching out to stop his student from following the connection down to see what Coran had just felt for himself.

Lance, being Lance, ignored him. And immediately regretted it when he was bowled over with a sickeningly intense wave of vertigo and longing. The feeling that really knocked him off-course was the sensation of somehow being someone else, which was odd considering the fact that he was _already_ experiencing Keith’s emotions from the inside. A long tendril of something warm and dark, more like fresh earth than anything sinister, curled around him and tugged him closer than he would’ve chosen to go on his own, until he could see Pidge, and Keith’s cave, and the kind eyes of a stranger. He could feel contempt towards himself, the overwhelming stink of failure.

Before he had the chance to think about how to get those dark feelings to subside, he was confronted with an image that confused him so deeply that it was already disappearing by the time he managed to comprehend what he was looking at. In the reflection in this strange girl’s hands, in a cave he hadn’t seen weeks, his own face was gazing back at him.

  


* * *

 

 

 

“I feel like a dog,” Keith complained. He was pacing the small artificial chamber he’d been put in to wait for his fight, but the collar around his neck was attached to a short chain that stopped him from being able to pace very successfully. After Lance’s unexplained escape, the Queen wasn’t taking any chances. It was partly this, and partly Pidge’s eager impatience to present him to the Seelie King like a prize, that made him feel like he was a well-trained hound. He could only hope his father would be different from everyone else he’d encountered - _don’t think about Lance, don’t think about Lance_ \- since he first discovered his real heritage; their only interest in him being for his pedigree and the tricks he could perform. She glared at him, and he stopped his pacing in favour of folding his arms and frowning.

  
“Good boy,” Pidge smirked.

“How are you so calm?” Keith gaped, trying to quell the chattering of his own heart. “This is _monumental_ \- and dangerous.” He placed a hand over his heart, like he could squeeze it tightly enough to restrain its beating. It thudded with a combination of anticipation, nervousness, and terror. If they were successful, the two faery courts would finally be united. They weren’t just making history. They were making legend. Pidge just grinned and patted him on the head, shoving the hilt of his sword into his hands.

He looked down at it, white faced. “Why are you giving me my sword?” He swallowed. “ _Pidge_?”

She shrugged unapologetically. “Sorry, Red. We aren’t sure if the curse will allow you to shift the way we want if your form isn’t already quite close in shape. You only had time to practice changing in this shape, so I convinced the Queen that it would be fun to see you fighting in your weaker form.” With that, she put a hand on his back and shoved him, leaving him stumbling out of the dark room that lead out into the arena. He didn’t even have any armour!

Suddenly exposed before thousands of eyes, he curled his arms around himself. Many of them leaned forward in interest; he only ever fought in this form if he was being punished for something. He resented the fact that everything he did was common knowledge at court, his entire life nothing but ways to create entertainment for bored faeries he’d never met.  
Clutching his sword tightly to his side, he remembered Pidge’s words. _Just be your rude, grumpy self. Try and annoy her as much as possible._

He could do that.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith woke up to noise. The air around him was filled with screaming and clanging. It made him wince, curl into a tighter ball on the ground, and try to cover his ears. Overwhelmed by noise, he couldn’t quite seem to make his hands obey him the way he wanted.

Someone was standing over him. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, then suddenly Pidge came into focus, leaning over him with a curious expression.

“Poor little guy,” she murmured to someone beside her. Keith turned his head, fighting immense disorientation to do so. Everything was so _loud_.

When he saw who Pidge was talking to, his confusion only grew. Pidge was talking to... Pidge.

 

Pidge number two was a little taller, a sturdiness to their shoulders that she lacked. Their posture was noticeably better than Pidge’s constant slouch, and the mysterious almost-Pidge was also wearing glasses. Keith had never seen a pair of spectacles in real life before as he’d never been around anyone scholarly or rich enough to bother with them, and he could only assume that if fae were ever short-sighted in the first place they would simply enchant the problem away. Eyeglasses were definitely a human affair. Which didn’t explain why Pidge’s identical companion was wearing them.

“This is Matt,” Pidge said cheerfully. “I’ll introduce the two of you properly once we deal with this little, uh, complication.”  


“Wait,” said Pidge-two - Matt - urgently. “Can I?”

Matt dipped his head towards Keith and Pidge nodded, rolling her eyes. Keith got the feeling that she had just given this mysterious Matt permission to do something to him without even asking how _he_ might feel about that. He resented that she felt entitled to permit that on his behalf, though Matt seemed completely harmless. It was one of the very few things that made him different from Pidge.

Matt looked worried, staring down at Keith with a pinched frown as he crouched beside the prone faery. Right, Keith was still lying on the ground. He should remedy that, but if he had to concentrate on coordinated thought _and_ movement he thought he might explode. Matt’s touch was clammy against his head. “Katie, he’s cursed.”

Who on _Earth_ was Katie?

Pidge shook her head. “You forgot already?” she said disbelievingly. “I know you’re forgetful, but you literally sat through a meeting _yesterday_ that mostly revolved around him. He has a curse that controls his shifting, but not like this, and besides, that should be broken soon.” She stared meaningfully behind her shoulder.

Keith wished fervently for anyone _but_ Pidge to be here to alleviate the confusion. For someone so intelligent, she was awful at explaining things.

His prayers, in a turn up for the books, were answered. His salvation came in the form of a huge, broad-shouldered faery carrying a sword that could be half the size of Keith’s whole body. He dropped to his knees before Pidge and Matt, completely ignoring Keith as he addressed them both as ‘Your Majesties’.   
“We’re holding steady against those loyal survivors, but the young prince is missing, Princess,” he began. Keith lifted his head in surprise, dropping it down when he realised that these strangers must not know what he looked like. “A few of my men say they saw him being confronted by the Queen’s witch as he attempted to escape - we believe she was summoned from elsewhere after we breached the barrier - but she then fled and he disappeared on his own.”

Keith watched as Pidge went white. Her gaze flickered to wear he was laid, and she smiled thinly at the man. “Thank you, Commander. Matt and I will find him - don’t waste men on locating him, but send someone after the witch if you can spare the forces. If you have any men with more details of what happened with the witch, please have them speak to me.”

The Commander bowed and disappeared, leaving Pidge and Matt exchanging identical grim looks. Keith tried to join in, as if he could pout them into telling him why the Commander hadn't recognised him when he was lying right there, even though he seemed to know who Keith was and what he looked like.

“You meant another curse, didn’t you?” Pidge sighed, addressing Matt's comment from before they were interrupted.

“The good news is that the old one doesn't seem to be there anymore,” Matt offered lamely. “The bad news is that its successor is much more restrictive.”

“He is going to kill me.”

“Who, Dad or Red?” Matt asked fake-innocently, his eyes glittering at Pidge’s predicament.

“Both.”  


* * *

 

 

Pidge had been right in that Keith did, in fact, want to kill her. After all, it was her fault that this had happened. She should’ve foreseen that the defeated queen might summon her reclusive, immensely powerful witch in a last attempt to at least have her revenge upon the one who betrayed her. Despite his vocal hatred of her, the Queen had been genuinely surprised that Keith had gone all the way and consented to her downfall. She had never stopped expecting - demanding - love from him, despite all the pain she’d caused him.

Remembering nothing, Keith decided that settling the blame on Pidge would be a reasonable assumption. Unfortunately, all he could do was glare daggers at her, thanks to the unfortunate conundrum she had gotten him _tangled_ up in. If she hadn’t engineered his shapeshifting training in the first place, he never would’ve been able to panic-shift into the swiftest animal he could think of in the moment, a fox, in an attempt to make a fast escape.

And if he hadn’t done that, the witch wouldn’t have cursed him into being _stuck_ that way at the worst moment.

Matt had pressed his palm flat against Keith’s side, a repeat of the examination he had done earlier. Keith watched his face wrinkle in confusion as he pulled away. “It’s not a new curse, exactly,” he said thoughtfully. “She must have already been weak when she cast it. It’s more like the old one, just… bent.”

Pidge looked thoughtful. “But the old one allowed the Queen to change it… it should’ve been broken when she-” she broke off, glancing at Keith and shrugging.

Matt nodded. “I don’t know. It feels much weaker than before, and… I don’t know,” he repeated. “It feels odd. Unstable. Perhaps it’s fading?”

Keith hoped that was it. Either way, his fury at Pidge was well deserved, he was convinced of that much. Especially because she found his entire predicament delightfully entertaining. She hadn’t stopped laughing as he trotted frantically after her, tongue lolling out in his exhaustion. She even complained that Matt was ‘ruining’ it when he slowed down and waited for Keith to catch up.

She’d continued breaking into giggles intermittently as they rode away from the battlefield in a gilded carriage, whenever she caught sight of Keith’s furious frown. The only time she’d been at all sober was when Matt reminded her that her father wouldn’t be at all pleased that she’d returned with his son cursed, mute, and certainly unfit for introduction to the seelie court. Which, for his part, Keith wasn’t happy about either. Having spent weeks fantasising about finally meeting someone who might be able to finally show him somewhere he could belong, finally redeem him from his uglier origins, and he was going to be meeting his father like _this_.

The time since Keith had stepped out of the carriage had passed in a blur. It was hard to believe that the people of the palace they arrived at were fighting a bloody and vicious war at that same moment. It felt distant in both space and time - neither of which were very concrete between the Seelie and Unseelie courts. He didn't know how long they'd traveled for, or how far they'd come. They could've crossed multiple planes, or steadily rolled for less than a mile. He never had anyone to explain these things to him.

It was only when he climbed out of the carriage that he began to feel nervous. He wanted to tug on Pidge’s hand like a child and ask her to wait; at least to give him a moment to collect himself before he met someone on whom, at this point, his whole identity hinged upon. What if his father didn’t like him? Considering his current situation, that was a bigger anxiety for him than his father being just as bad as his mother. At least if the seelie side of his bloodline offered no redemption, it wasn’t like he hadn’t existed without hope, and with self hatred on a nucleic level, before. The idea he couldn’t bear to imagine was that his father would be everything he could have hoped would be running through his veins, and this image of utter perfection would reject him.

As if he wasn’t already at least fifty percent despicable and also a murderer… now he was also cursed. Even more cursed than before.

If the Universe was going to dangle something good in front of him only to snatch it away, again, he didn’t know what he would do. Not to mention that if his father was truly good, his rejection would clearly mark Keith as something from the other side - if he didn’t like Keith, it would be because his son was objectively bad, and then no amount of attempting to sugarcoat things in his mind would be enough to hold off the righteous self-hatred.

 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how to get anyone’s attention, and no one was stopping to spare him a second glance as he followed his companions down the paved road from the outer gates into the central castle. The group grew as they walked: at the gates they were met by two spindly figured who wordlessly peeled off from the rest of the guards and settled into a steady march, flanking the small group. Keith could only assume that they were guards. He wasn’t sure what they were being guarded against in their own palace. Perhaps it was simply caution, given the current civil war of sorts.

After the guards, they were joined by two well dressed and more human shaped escorts. They bowed deeply and asked if Pidge, Matt, and the hulking man who’d ridden in the carriage with them had anything which the men could carry for them. Pidge shook her head and clutched her bag defensively to her chest. Matt turned around and, to Keith’s alarm, pointed directly at him.  
“He looks tired,” Matt observed, noticing the way Keith’s shorter legs scrambled to match the pace and stride of everyone else.

“He’s fine. You’ve never been on a hunt. Trust me, foxes can move much faster than this. This is a snail’s pace for him,” argued Pidge.

Matt looked doubtful. Keith shrank away from his thoughtful gaze.  
“That’s running, though. You have him trotting along beside us - after all the effort he must already have exerted today, too. He’s been walking for a long time. I mean, look at him!” Keith tried to stop his tongue from lolling out in exhaustion, but it disobeyed him in his effort to cool down. “He’s definitely tired.”

Keith wanted to argue but suddenly his footing was gone and he was being hoisted into a firm pair of arms. He whined, desperately scrabbling away from the stranger’s strong grip. When the servant’s arms only tightened around him, he let out a small noise of complaint and gave in.

 

* * *

 

 

Cross-legged on the floor of Coran’s library, Lance was panicking.

With Shiro and Allura both sitting at the tiny desk where Lance usually studied while Coran fluttered around the library selecting books and discarding them seemingly at random, Lance had been relegated to the floor. He didn’t really mind. The solid surface was a comfort to him and it meant he could stretch his legs out and uncross them again over and over as a way to relieve some of the tension.

He tried to train his heartbeat to follow Keith’s. The beating itself was relatively steady, a calming beacon amongst the pure stress that radiated from the faery at the other end. He didn’t seem to be in direct danger, at least, but he’d been drowning in waves of anxiety, and brief flashes of fear, all day. Without thinking, he nudged his own comforting thoughts through the connection, his love-not-love fluttering through like butterflies before he had a chance to catch himself.

“Lance, are you sure that he-” Shiro began.

 

“Something is wrong,” Lance snapped, his fingers clenched tightly around the stone he held. He conveniently forgot to mention what he’d seen when he’d been dragged into Keith’s head by its magic, but remained insistently firm. “I felt something odd a few hours ago, and it hasn’t felt right since then.”

“May I?” Allura asked kindly, holding out one gloved hand towards where Lance was sprawled. At the way Lance tightened, holding Keith’s gift tightly to his chest, she pointed out, “I also have magic. I thought I could take a look and see if I find anything different. A different perspective has helped solve many problems before!” She clasped her hands under her chin, smiling tentatively, and Lance was unable to resist her combination of trust and authority.

She took it in her hands, watching it with guarded wonder. “I hope my magic won’t cause any problems with Pidge’s half unseelie magic,” she mused as her eyes fluttered shut.

“If it can coexist inside Pidge, this should be fine,” Shiro said. “Right?” he added uncertainly, aware of his status as the only nonmagical one in the room.

Allura shook her head, dropping the stone onto the wooden desk. Lance immediately leapt forward and snatched it from the table before it rolled onto the floor. She ignored his suspicious gaze, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. “It won’t… I could feel some emotion radiating out, but it wouldn’t let me follow the magic like you do, Lance.”

“The unseelie magic?” Lance suggested.

“No…” Allura pouted. “Well, yes. There was this red… film. That’s what prevented me, and I think that was unseelie - or partly. It was incredibly stubborn and defensive, but it didn’t seem to belong to the rest of the magic. In fact, the magic that actually operates the stone was much more like mine. Seelie, I think, but human too.”

  


* * *

 

 

“You’ll be fine,” Pidge said soothingly, her fingers scratching his ear just a little too hard. He snapped at her and moved away to the protection offered by Matt, unwilling to become Pidge’s personal stress toy. What did she even have to be nervous about? Their father clearly already liked her, and was probably just brimming with pride for her part in things. On top of that, she could actually _talk_.  
He’d had the bright idea to try reaching out with his magic. Unfortunately the only way he knew to use it was for healing, so that idea went about as well as expected. He only managed to get Pidge to look behind her and complain that her elbow felt warm.  
His inability to communicate left him infuriated. He had no way to ask for help; not that he was inclined to ask Pidge for help in the first place, but he could feel claustrophobic panic beginning to swell in his chest and being able to make an excuse while he escaped to a hallway to pace until he calmed at least a little would be a small but much-needed blessing.

“He already knows,” Matt added awkwardly. “He just wants to meet you.”

Keith had had enough of stupid curses. He’d had enough of familial loyalties taking away all his choice, and blindly following his morally neutral sister because the alternative was his controlling, murderous mother, and he’d had _enough_ of not being able to make his own choices. After a year of having his own name turned against him, he was supposed to finally be able to take some control back in his life. Yet somehow, just hours later, he’d already found himself a passive accomplice once more.

Something tugged at Keith’s thoughts, tiny smatters of warmth amongst his churning brain. That was the last straw.

He was _free_. He didn’t have to answer to anyone anymore. Why was he even here, in an empty palace waiting for some stranger to get back from some mysterious errand? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet his father. But he wasn’t ready - for reasons not limited to but certainly including the fact that he was currently the completely wrong shape.

The throne room was open and airy, contrary to the droves of guards they’d previously seen. There were windows set in every space where light could stream in, and several doors leading out into the extensive gardens were thrown open. The grass outside beckoned to him like an invitation, the blue of the sky above reminding him of a pair of daydream-bright eyes. Keith had had enough of forgetting the reason why he was fighting in the first place, and of staying here, in this realm that had done nothing to him but cage and manipulate him.

 

With a last fleeting glance at Pidge, Keith ran for the door and didn’t stop.

  
  


* * *

 

  


He only realised the flaw in his plan long after he’d shed his pursuers and dived through the veil dividing this place from the realm where Lance was: he had no further idea than that where on earth Lance even was. He knew it was a castle town called Altea, but he couldn’t just stop and ask a local farmer for directions. Dark had sunk long ago over the horizon, and rain was thudding down and matting his fur uncomfortably, weighing him down. Pidge had been right about his speed, but it had been exhausting to keep up such a velocity long after he’d left them behind, fuelled by adrenaline and paranoia. Something tugged him forward and towards itself and he followed it blindly without question. It led him into a village area and deeper into a sleeping town, houses growing thicker around him, but he didn’t have any energy left to question it.

His legs gave out before his resolve did. He collapsed on a grassy verge beside a building, surrounded by grass in an otherwise heavily built area, and let out a tiny whimper. _It'll be okay_ , he told himself as his eyes drifted shut. He was no stranger to some harsh weather. It would pass, and he’d get some rest, and tomorrow he would try and figure out a more effective way to locate Lance. His body complained desperately at the distance he’d forced it to travel, but he always recovered quickly.  
Hopefully he hadn’t landed just outside a farm. Most of the farmers he knew in his human life didn’t take kindly to foxes choosing their property as a halfway house.  
  


“Hey there, little guy.”

Keith jerked out of his semi-unconsciousness as best he could at the sound of a soft, kind voice. He was surprised to see light beginning to bleed out over the hills already. Either he’d been running all night, or he really had fallen asleep at some point.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t a good place for a nap,” said the figure of a man, tall and broad. Not much of him was visible in the soft glow of sunrise, but a natural warmth seemed to seep out of him, causing Keith to relax immediately. His voice was gently chiding up as he scooped up the muddy, bedraggled bundle on the floor into his huge arms without so much as a small grunt of effort. “Shh,” the man cooed, when Keith struggled weakly. It was a lost cause anyway with how little energy he had left. “Unless you were trying to eat one of the King’s horses, no one will hurt you here.”

“Hunk, what’s taking so long!” cried a second voice, shrill and much younger sounding.

 

“Hang on!” called Keith’s rescuer. “We have, uh, a new friend.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch me sway wildly between formal, old-timey language and modern ponderings on a system of genetics that humans didn't discover until centuries later. it's called being stylistic, mom. (please suspend your disbelief - it works the best with characterisation and intimate/personal moments) (p.s. the premise is that keith transformed into her old lover, the king, as a way to utterly shock her. just if you didnt catch that)


	12. The one where Hunk is a friend to nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance visits a friend and gets an unexpected companion. Keith faces his destiny and decides he doesn't want it... yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this hasn't been checked over at all so i apologise for any errors. it's a long chapter and i've been a while writing it, so i just wanted to get it posted already! I hate how long this is getting but I keep having ideas and I have to write them,, send help. One day before 2020 I will finish this, and then I am going to write a (SHORTER) modern soulmate AU with a twist where Lance is a witch and Keith is his familar... except he's human and familiars are supposed to be mice and owls and black cats (cue uhhh stuff happening) So thats a little preview of what's next. enjoooy!

Lance’s morning could be going worse, he supposed. Not _much_ worse, though.

Having slept fitfully due to his panic over Keith, he’d been woken up far too early when Coran had bounded into his chambers with painful enthusiasm for that time of morning and informed Lance that he had a guest. Everything had only gotten worse from there. It seemed there really was some truth to the idea that a whole day could be karmically sabotaged if one woke up in the wrong way.

Barely awake, Lance peeled his eyes open to see Hunk standing over his bed.

“Too good to come and visit you buddy now that you’re back in the castle with your fancy bed?” Hunk teased, hands on his hips like a housewife when her husband came home smelling of the tavern. The image would’ve made Lance laugh, if it was any later in the day and he wasn’t still partially asleep and wishing to be left alone so he could go back to sleep. A heavy knot of anxiety was still lodged against his stomach as firmly as it had been last night and it wasn’t helping his mood any. Worry for Keith was eating at him slowly, though he was completely and utterly helpless to do anything about whatever was wrong with the shapeshifting faery. He was still very much alive, and Lance didn’t feel like Keith was being physically threatened by anything so much as he just knew that something was wrong. If only he could put his finger on _what_.

“No, I-” he protested, “No! I’m touched that you came to see me, though. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with my studies lately.” _Oh, and planning how to rescue the love of my life who happens to be Sir Shirogane’s brother and half-good-half-evil faery_. He would save that little anecdote for a more convenient time. Or never, if he could help it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, dude, I’m here on an errand,” Hunk said with a smile.

“Aww, don’t tell me you didn’t even notice I was gone,” Lance whined, doing his best impression of a kicked puppy in an attempt to make Hunk feel guilty. By now, his friend was completely immune to his charms, but that didn’t stop Lance from trying.

“Don’t do those eyes on me, Lance. Don’t do those _eyes_!” Hunk rolled his shoulders and sighed, ignoring Lance’s pitiful face and trying to remember what he actually came for. “If you would stop that for one second, I could tell you that I have a great opportunity for you to practise your magic, and Coran already approved, so you get the whole day with me at the stables _and_ a brilliant opportunity to learn! Don’t you want to learn, Lance?” he said solemnly, eyes wide and innocent like he only had his friend’s best interests at heart. He was Hunk, so that would never _usually_ be at all difficult to believe. Today, though, something unusually mischievous glinted in his eyes that had Lance desperate to find out what he was hiding.

Lance’s day didn’t turn utterly _terrible_ until just after he arrived at Hunk’s. His friend remained tight-lipped throughout the journey, refusing to specify what exactly this learning opportunity was until they arrived at the stables. For his part, Lance couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t involve Keith. He wished he had found the courage to tell his best friend about his experience with The Folk when this whole thing started, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain now, which meant he couldn’t get one person’s advice that he desperately wanted.

“So I found this little guy when I was up feeding everything this morning,” Hunk explained as they walked. “And he isn’t in good shape. I thought maybe you could try out your great new healing powers. My sister has been looking after him and he’s perfectly tame, somehow. He’s better behaved than any of the King’s horses, that’s for sure. He’s mostly just been sitting in the corner, and he only really comes out for food.”  
Hunk stopped outside an empty stall on the back row and waited for Lance, a few paces behind, to catch up. When Lance scurried up beside him, Hunk grabbed the rusty bolt and dragged it across, throwing the stall door open before Lance really had time to consider what kind of creature Hunk could be sheltering inside the empty stall.

“He’s so docile, it’s crazy. He won’t even move, it’s completely fi-”

An orange blur raced towards him, fast as lightning. Lance screamed.

  


* * *

 

 

When Lance was twelve, there was a famine in Altea. There were many efforts to keep the outlying villages supplied with food from the stores, and despite bandits on the path between the castle and the villages, most people in Lance’s village survived the harsh winter. However, it was a close thing for many families, his own included. On one occasion, when the supplies from the castle were cut off and they had to go a week without food, Lance’s family had to slaughter their hens - leaving them without eggs in the future: they had no choice if they didn’t want to starve in the shorter-term. Except when Lance went out that morning with tears in his eyes to catch his beloved pets and bring them inside, he’d been greeted with three piles of scattered feathers and a retreating red tail.  
In the week it took the next supply cart to reach them, starving and cold and already vulnerable, Lance’s newborn baby sister died. A month off from her christening, she didn’t even have a name yet. That was why it was perfectly understandable for him to yelp and slam his fist down into the head of the fox that was currently attempting to scale him like a tree. Despite what Hunk’s horrified expression might say, he was entitled to this reaction.  
“Lance!” Hunk cried, shocked. Lance wasn’t sure if his friend was afraid for him or for the murderous creature currently trying to finish him off.

“Get it off,” he yelped. “It’s trying to kill me, get it off, get it off-” he stopped, startled, as the creature that had surely been trying to bite out his throat just moments before suddenly dropped to the ground before him and crouched with its ears back as it stared pitifully at him.

“It’s okay,” Hunk said warily. “I guess he was just excited to see a new friend. But he’s harmless, see?”

Lance scrambled away from where the thing was lying on the ground, using Hunk as a shield from its wrath. “Hunk, what is this thing doing here?”

Frowning, Hunk shrugged at the harmless-looking creature, which was doing an excellently convincing attempt at pretending it wouldn’t hurt a fly. That act wouldn’t work on Lance, though, even if it did seem equally as terrified as him.  
“I thought we could keep him,” Hunk offered, “Like a guard dog. He’s already tame, and it would be a pretty unique pet. He’s no harm to any of us - he doesn’t want the grain or the horses. I’ve just been feeding him scraps from the kitchen and letting him have whatever we catch in the traps in the grain store. He doesn’t like rabbits, though. They freak him out, so I put them in the bag for the huntmaster to give to the hounds.”

Lance shook his head. “You have to kill it, Hunk. You can’t just be keeping a fox out here! They destroy and kill things, and no one wants one lurking around the town getting fed for free.”

Both of them turned when the small fox whimpered like it had been shot. It cowered away from Lance’s gaze and mimicked Lance’s earlier attempt to use Hunk as protection, staring distrustfully at Lance. Its ears were pinned so far back against its head that they were barely visible, and it was trembling. It made for a very pitiful sight, and Lance already wasn’t keen on the idea of killing anything - but they just couldn’t have a dangerous predator wandering around town. It could attack a child! Besides, if they didn’t deal with it then someone else would, probably with a bystander getting hurt in the process if they let it go free and it caught someone unaware.  
“I’m not killing him,” Hunk said, surprisingly fierce. “He’s intelligent, Lance, and he’s a living, breathing thing with thoughts and feelings. He has these _eyes_. It’s like he understands everything we’re saying. You can’t kill something that understands you.” The fox whined in agreement. Coincidence, Lance decided. It just coincidentally acted very appropriately.

“I can’t-” Lance rubbed his temples, unable to force the idea of killing anything, even something that he despised so much, “I can’t do this. I’m going back to the castle. Just don’t let that thing out of this stable, and be _careful_ , Hunk. It might be docile now, but it attacked me for no reason just now. Everything would better if you remained alive and with all your limbs.”  
Lance turned to leave only to find his path blocked by the small fox. It was sitting a non-aggressive distance, tentative fierceness in its expression as it stared back at him. Sitting back on its haunches and watching him carefully, it managed to seem stubborn but benign. Somehow, Lance still felt like he was its prey.

“He needs help, Lance,” Hunk explained. “He's sick - he's hurt.”

“It’s _weird_ ,” Lance added under his breath. His initial terror was already fading away. A few weeks in a cave with a dragon tended to raise one’s tolerance for threatening animals, he supposed. That didn’t mean he was anything like comfortable with it, though. He knew, logically, that a fox wasn’t clever enough to actually plot to earn their trust and betray them. It was just an unpredictable wild animal, which made it threatening but also meant that if it hadn’t attacked yet then it probably wasn’t vicious. What convinced him to stay, aside from the fact that it was blocking his way out with its body sprawled flat and its eyes wide and almost afraid, was the darkly matted fur on its hind legs. Apparently his time with Red had also given him a soft spot for dangerous wounded animals.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith hadn’t been able to believe his luck when he saw Lance. The huge stablehand and his sister were very kind, and he hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been until they offered him food; but neither of them helped fill up the other emptiness that loomed inside him, aside from hunger.  
In hindsight, it had been naive to assume that Lance would instantly know him (and not be completely terrified) if he just barrelled towards his lost friend with no warning. Nevertheless, it hurt to hear Lance suggest that he be killed. For a moment he was even overcome with terror that Lance would actually go through with it and Keith would die in the most tragic way possible, at the hands of the one he came to find. Thankfully, Hunk had been his defender and he remained blessedly alive, though Lance didn’t seem happy about that. A part of him was furious that Lance didn’t know him by now, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been completely oblivious. Keith was certain that he would have recognised Lance had their roles been reversed, but perhaps his upbringing had made him more inclined to suspect something supernatural.

He tried his best to act as strangely as possible, going far enough that Lance would just _have_ to notice. Hunk led them into the kitchen for Lance to mix up a poultice and he hopped onto the chair with his tail curled neatly underneath him. After a while, he got bored of Lance’s lack of appreciation for the fact that a wild animal knew how to use a chair and instead hopped onto the counter, sticking his nose in Lance’s bowl and sniffing at it. He did his best to give Lance a knowing look, but all he got in response was a wrinkled nose before Lance went back to his working. He had the brief idea to use his magic - surely Lance would recognise that - but then he considered Pidge using it to track him down and take him back to court when he’d finally found Lance again.  
For a moment, he allowed himself to just be grateful for that. He’d found Lance! He never thought they would ever see each other again, but now he was getting under Lance’s feet in a tiny kitchen while he mixed a potion and ignored him and it was spectacularly better than languishing alone in a huge palace.

One thing he’d noticed was that Lance would continually reach his hand into his pocket. There seemed to be something in there, but it wasn’t that he actually needed to retrieve it or use it for any visible purpose. He would just reach into his pocket every few minutes, fiddle with something in there, and slide his hands out again. It was strangely endearing, especially the peaceful look he got every time he did it.

“Done,” Lance said abruptly, shattering Keith’s relative peace where he was curled into a ball in the gap between Lance’s legs and the counter. Lance hadn’t been very happy when Keith had settled there, but he very much enjoyed the sheltered nook it created for him and refused to move until the mage gave in. “Come on, then,” he ordered sharply, and Keith missed the tenderness with which Lance had always applied poultices and impossible magic to him before. Coming from the boy who threw up when Keith killed a rabbit, it was confusing and a little painful.

Despite his newfound sharpness, Keith trusted Lance. Especially when it came to wound-healing. The state he was in, a combination of fatigue and miscellaneous wounds from his long journey and injuries from the battle he barely remembered, was almost as bad as it had been the first time Lance had healed him. He sighed loudly, resting his head on his front paws with his back legs easily accessible where the worst wounds were. The sludgy texture of the paste Lance slathered on made Keith cringe.

“I don’t have time for you right now,” Lance complained. “Keith is in trouble and I’m stuck here putting poultice on a fox.”  
Keith’s ears pricked up with interest at the sound of his own name. He scrambled to his feet, flicking his ear knowingly at Lance.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Stop judging me!”

Shaking himself out carefully, Keith settled back down with a sigh. In that moment, he absolutely hated Lance and his total obliviousness.

 

* * *

 

 

“Aww, Lance, he likes you,” Hunk snickered.

Lance stamped his foot, his disagreement evident as he glared down at the bedraggled little creature that seemed determined to follow him home. “Listen here, ginger. Just because I healed you, doesn’t mean I like you or I’m going to be nice to you. Hunk asked me to treat your wounds, so I did, but it’s nothing personal. Go back into your stall and leave me alone,” he urged, puffing his chest up in an attempt to be authoritative.  
His follower ignored him and instead just gazed up at him with oddly familiar saucer-eyes. He understood what Hunk meant earlier about its eyes, now. Its gaze seemed so soulful as it stared up at him, begging to come with him.

“Why do you want to come with me, to a cramped room in a castle full of people with swords who are very inclined to not want a scavenger running around near their kitchens?” he asked. Sure enough, the ever-perceptive creature cowered. But it still didn’t move from where it was curled up on his feet. Cautiously, he bent down and scooped it up, expecting teeth and wriggling. It tensed, startled, but after it got over its alarm it simply slumped in his arms, squinting dark eyes at him. _So_ weird. He looked helplessly at Hunk, the voice of reason.

“I don’t know buddy. He was really sick when he first got here. Maybe you should take him overnight to keep an eye on him? You could see if Coran has any spells to turn him into a flying fox or make him be able to talk or something,” he suggested gleefully.

“I don’t want to be the guy with the animal sanctuary,” Lance whined. “You know if I do it once then everyone in the whole kingdom is going to bring me every little mouse with a cold.”

“Aww, a mouse with a cold would be so cute. Think of those tiny sneezes,” Hunk cooed, completely missing the point.

“No,” Lance said firmly. “No foxes or other wild animals in my room, and that is final.”

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t been final.

Lance was curled up, forced into a small corner of his bed by the overconfident canine that was splayed across half of his covers. Gone was the trembling, wide-eyed object of pity, and in its place was an arrogant blanket-hog. He was supposed to meet Shiro and Allura for another what-to-do-about-Keith meeting in this very room in a very short while. At this rate there would be nowhere left in the room for them to sit.  
Gradually, Lance was beginning to suspect that his newfound companion was somewhat unusual. He was attentive and comprehending enough of everything Lance said that it was getting difficult to dismiss as anything natural anymore, and something in his eyes when he lifted his head to glance at Lance was just far too familiar. His working theory was that the fox was enchanted somehow, probably by faeries, although he wasn’t sure which ones.

He seemed to understand Lance somewhat, but not enough to move when he begged him to get off the bed. Whenever he made to leave the room, the fox sat up and whined, and would follow Lance around as he wandered through the mage’s quarters, trotting silently behind him. Whenever he stopped, the fox would sit down and stare at him expectantly. When he decided Lance wasn’t going to leave, he streaked back to the bedroom again in a russet blur.  
Coran was out visiting patients. Lance wondered what his tutor would say about their new companion. Perhaps he would like how the colour of the fox’s fur matched his own hair? That seemed to Lance like something his tutor would find diverting. Hopefully diverting enough that he didn’t take issue with a feral animal being brought into the centre of the castle.

Bored without his tutor, Lance prowled around aimlessly as he waited for Shiro and Allura. He made up several potions and dedicated a little healing energy to each one, setting them out in the correct trays to be send to the appropriate patients, mixing them and adding a little intent each time until he was exhausted. His fingers dipped into his pocket and took out Keith’s stone, holding it in front of his face so he could stare at it. He dipped just low enough under the surface to feel Keith’s emotions - warm and tired and more content than Lance had ever felt through the stone before - before he surfaced and shoved it back into his pocket. He’d yet to recover from what he saw last time he went further in and he definitely wasn’t ready to see what else might have happened in the time since then.  
He was still staring thoughtfully at the stone when he heard the church bells begin to ring out the hour, just as Shiro and Allura stepped through the door. Flinching guiltily, he shoved the stone back into his pocket and turned to face them.

“Princess, Sir Shirogane!” he yelped, bowing.

Allura opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t necessary as she did every time they spoke, when his bedroom door creaked open and a smallish ball of red fluff hurtled out and threw itself at Shiro. Lance prepared himself for the sight of a fox impaled on a sword in the middle of Coran’s quarters but thankfully the knight actually seemed pleased with the attention. Graceful as ever, he bent down and began scratching behind his attacker’s ears like it was nothing.  
“What are you doing here?” asked the little fox, eventually looking up at Lance.

Lance shrugged. “It was against my will. My friend at the stables found him and he sort of took a liking to me…”

“Cute,” Shiro giggled, leaving Lance completely and utterly astounded as he obliviously petted the small creature.

“Uh. Aren’t you worried about a feral animal being loose inside the castle?” Lance asked in confusion.

“Feral?” Shiro looked around in confusion for a moment before realising what Lance was referencing and grinning. “If this thing does any damage at all I will personally pay for its repair. _Look_ at him!” He nodded down at where it was currently licking his face enthusiastically, like an emotional reunion more than a first meeting. That definitely felt… something was nagging at Lance’s brain all of a sudden, triggered by his own passing thought about how they seemed to already know each other. He couldn't put his finger on it, though, so he shrugged it off as best he could.

“What does he eat?” Allura asked. “I could arrange for leftover bones and scraps to be sent over from the kitchen for him, if you'd like. “ She gazed down at the fox with a pleased expression, though a little warier than Shiro.

“I think he might be enchanted, somehow,” Lance said, watching as the fox’s ears picked up. “He's just… he seems to _know_ things.”

“What's his name?” Shiro enquired, ignoring Lance.

“His name? I guess I didn't… Get around to that yet.”

Allura gasped, affronted. “Lance, if you haven't named him have you even fed him? Does he have water?” She looked horrified as she noticed the wounds spotting his legs and torso. “Look, he's wounded! Oh, you poor creature,” she murmured sympathetically. The fox looked up at her timidly with an expression that was almost smug, despite his obvious nervousness.

“I'm working on it!” Lance defended himself eagerly, waving a bowl of poultice in the air pointedly. “I _may_ have forgotten to give him anything to drink,” he added abashedly. He quickly produced a small dish and scooped some water into it from the pail that may or may not have held Coran’s bathwater. (It was definitely Coran’s bathwater - Lance just didn’t know if it had been used yet or not). Guilt immediately pooled inside him when the bedraggled fox immediately began to lap desperately at the water, draining it in seconds; Allura shot Lance a disappointed look and took the empty bowl from the floor, filling it once more and offering it to the animal. He squinted his eyes at her, pleased, and she gave him one of those radiant smiles that made Lance, and presumably anyone else with a heartbeat, a little breathless.

“You should have Coran examine him whenever he returns,” she suggested. “I can certainly feel magic around him, so you could be right about that enchantment. Faery enchantments can be dangerous to interact with if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Ah, did someone say dangerous faery enchantments?”

Lance whirled around. “Coran!”

“Oh my goodness!” Coran exclaimed, almost falling over himself and smashing the tray of vials he carried with him. “What in the heavens is _that_ doing here?”  
Lance could hardly describe his relief at having someone finally treat the situation with an inch of sanity. Somehow he was the odd one out for being concerned about keeping a vicious wild animal at the castle, and now Coran was the one person with common sense. This day couldn’t get any weirder.

“It’s getting unseelie all over my quarters,” Coran complained, dropping his potions down on the side so abruptly that they rattled loudly in the otherwise silent room as everyone turned to stare at where the unseelie in question was doing his best to look innocent, ears folded back. “Oh, it’s not- _Oh_.” Lance’s tutor’s eyes widened in understanding. The fox’s ears pricked up hopefully. Lance felt like he was definitely missing something.

“I - my _goodness_ . What onare you doing here, Your Highness?”

  


* * *

 

  


“ _Keith_?!”

Having spent the entire day desperately wishing Lance would figure out who he was, the moment had finally come and Keith was suddenly filled with anxiety. Lance’s face was still only showing the original shock, so Keith had no idea what that reaction was going to give way to. Most of all he just wished he could _talk_. It seemed the powers that be were never going to just let him get what he wanted without a twist.  
“ _This_ is Keith?” The one Lance had called Allura said, dumbfounded. “When you spoke about him I thought-”

“Keith was definitely _not_ like this before,” Lance interrupted. Keith mentally berated Lance for telling these strangers his true name before he’d even met them. As it was, he had a lot of frustration inside him right now and it was easy to direct that at Lance.  
In the midst of their overlapping voices, arguing about who he was and what he was and why he was and what to do next, he slunk out. When he’d left his father’s castle, he had imagined finding Lance immediately and then being listened to and finally treated like a person and not just a pawn, the way he’d fallen in love with Lance for doing before. Perhaps he had also for some reason assumed that the curse would suddenly disappear when he saw Lance. Instead, he may as well have stayed with Pidge. Now he was filthy, hurt, exhausted, and being ignored again - just in a different castle than before.

He found refuge in what he assumed was Lance’s bedroom, where he had laid earlier. There was various paraphernalia, magical and not, sprayed across it - including a book that appeared to about faery lore, open and face-down on the nightstand. He was just settling down in the blankets, taking vindictive pleasure in dirtying the blankets and throwing the things scattered across them into even more disarray, when the door creaked open. Preparing to shoot Lance a repellent glare, he lifted his head.

It wasn’t Lance who entered but Shiro, the small doorway making him look even more enormous. Keith cowered before both his physical stature (he’d definitely gotten much more muscular since Keith last saw him) and the enormity of the situation. Shiro had always been strong but here in his fine armour, the commanding air that followed him, and a physique that had benefited from a proper diet and regular training, he could easily be mistaken for a faerie night. It almost made Keith wish he was back with Pidge, meeting his father instead of seeing his brother for the first time in years while he was burdened with another ridiculous curse.  
While he was distracted deciding what to do, Shiro made the choice for him. His brother ran forwards and lifted him into the air like it was nothing, like he used to do when they were children. Having spent a good portion of the year as a dragon, the sensation of being swung around like he was weightless was much more disconcerting than it used to be. He only wished he could tell Shiro that he’d missed him, and that he was so proud of what Shiro had become, and that he was so grateful to him for everything he’d ever done right up to being the only person who actually considered how Keith felt about this whole thing. He settled for nosing fondly at Shiro’s face.

“Keith!” he burst out. Only when he spoke did Keith realise he was _crying_. The fact that his invincible, impossibly sturdy older brother was crying over him made Keith want to cry himself. He let out a small whine in response, frustrated as he wiggled to be put down. There was only so much he could stand, and being suffocated both Shiro’s grip and the feeling of needing to cry but being physically unable was too much. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again… the letter you sent me, I… I’m sorry. It’s not fair to talk like that when you can’t talk back. I know you had your reasons and I don’t blame you for what you did.”

Keith didn’t know what he could say to that, so he just met Shiro’s eyes and waited for him to say something else.

“You came all this way… to see Lance, right? But when you got here he didn’t even know it was you. That must be awful. I’m sorry.” He slipped into his familiar chiding voice, the one he used whenever Keith got himself into trouble by doing something well-meaning but stupid. “I hope you didn’t get hurt like that because you travelled too quickly and exhausted yourself.”

Keith looked down, shamefaced.

“You must care about Lance a lot,” Shiro said pointedly. “I know you can’t talk, but you can nod your head for yes and shake it for no, okay?”

Keith nodded.

“Good. So, are you in danger from anyone right now?”

Keith thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Okay, that’s good. You must already be so overwhelmed. I don’t want to interrogate you, but it’s important that you’re safe.” His voice was calm and soft, music to Keith’s ears. “But… Lance? You gave him a stone that’s connected to your heartbeat; that’s a rather unusual choice of gift. And if Lance is to be believed, you sacrificed yourself for him multiple times. Then you almost kill yourself running all the way out here to find him. Do you-”  
The door opened again, blessedly saving Keith from what he suspected Shiro was about to say. It opened to reveal Lance, looking ashamed of himself.

“I’m so sorry!” Lance yelped as soon as Keith looked at him. “I was just so shocked, I didn’t think about how scared you must be. I just came to apologise for the way I acted.”  
Keith nodded awkwardly, thankful to the curse for at least hiding his warm cheeks. Sensing something, Shiro made a speedy exit with a muttered excuse that Keith didn’t even catch, leaving him alone with Lance.

“You’re here!” Lance buried his face in Keith’s fur, voice quieting when Keith’s ears went back in distress. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re okay.”  
Keith felt something move, and opened his eyes to see Lance digging something out of his pocket, the same pocket Keith had noticed him fiddling with earlier. His heart jumped when he saw what Lance was holding: it was worn like it had been touched and rubbed many times, but it glowed with a familiar light. To his great embarrassment, he realised Lance could feel his heart racing. Unfortunately the harder he tried to get it to slow down, the more it sped up.  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Lance murmured, sitting up. Sensing Keith’s racing pulse but misinterpreting it, Lance petted his head in a clumsy attempt at reassurance.

Keith shook his head.

“We’ll break the curse,” Lance said, quiet but firm. “I promise.”  
If only Keith could speak… He wanted to tell Lance everything. Matt had said perhaps the curse would fade, a hope Keith was clinging to desperately.

Butting his head lightly against Lance’s knee, he yawned and leapt back up onto the bed from where Shiro had deposited him on the floor. He had assumed that Lance would see that he wanted to rest and disappear back into the larger quarters, leaving Keith alone again. Instead, the apprentice began to shrug off his thick outer robes until he was left only in his long undershirt. Once again, Keith was thankful to the curse for disguising his emotions.  
“You’re not the only one who’s tired, mister. I may be just a common born apprentice, but I still need to sleep,” Lance offered, misinterpreting Keith’s stare once again. He sounded oddly defensive, with a layer of sadness behind his voice when he spoke - almost bitter about something. Unsure how to reassure him, Keith butted his nose against Lance’s arm once more, gratified to see his face relax back into an easy smile.

He noticed that Lance fell asleep clutching the charmed amulet, and allowed his heart to flutter when he saw how Lance didn't even seem to realise what he  was doing, as though it was a habit.

  


* * *

 

 

In the morning, after he got over the initial panic of seeing a small fox snoring blissfully on his bed, Lance awoke fully with an idea. He felt significantly less brilliant as he recounted it to the assembled group before him.  
Shiro had refused to return to his quarters without the person he rather amusingly referred to as his ‘little brother’, and slept on a mat in the study.  He looked exhausted and barely seemed to comprehend anything Lance was saying. As the only non-magical person in the room, most of it went over his head.

Allura had been just as shocked as Lance when Coran revealed that he was actually on old friend of her grandmother’s, repaying an unnamed favour by staying in the human world to watch over her descendants after she passed on.

(“Immortal?” Coran had chuckled, finding Lance’s suggestion wildly amusing. “That would be difficult to achieve without some very evil magic. I was only a boy when she rescued me from the fate of a changeling and raised me beside her own daughter. A changeling doesn’t live long, you see. Even its body knows it doesn’t belong and it tries to escape by any means possible. Seelie fae don’t do too well in atmospheres where negative energy is directed towards them. The practise is actually outlawed under Seelie law, but some very traditional Folk still engage - and babies are stolen by the Unseelie, of course.” Lance thought of Keith and shuddered. Although he was only half Seelie, Keith had probably experience more negative energy at the hands of his mother than any changeling did from their assumed families.)

“He- you could change before, despite the curse,” Lance pointed out. He felt insufficient under Keith’s heavy, unreadable gaze. “I just thought instead of breaking it by force, we could just… stretch it out of shape. Exert a continuous and constant pressure on it. Instead of trying to shift back into your human- uh, I mean faery form, you just try and… change colour. Maybe try for a wolf or a slightly bigger fox. Just keep training the magic into different shapes and hopefully it will either snap completely, or stretch enough to allow you back into...  you.”

“That is a better plan than any of our others, not that we really had any,” Allura agreed. “Perhaps Coran’s and my Seelie magic could neutralise some of the curse, make it thinner.”

Shiro stared blankly, only nodding because Keith was doing so. “Yes… sounds good,” he said uncomprehendingly.

 

Coran cleared an area for them to work, saving all his precious books from the possible splash zone (not that there would be any splashing, hopefully) and Keith stood in the centre of the circle of Lance, Allura, and Coran. His eyes stayed fixed on Lance, and Lance saw fear flickering in them. He nodded, silently assuring Keith that he was going to be okay. He wasn’t sure what it meant that Keith seemed so emboldened by a simple gesture from him after so many years of betrayal from the people around him.  
“Ready?” Lance whispered. Keith nodded, closing his eyes. Allura and Coran shut their eyes too, frowns of effort and concentration crossing their expressions and Keith’s as they all strained against the magic.

Lance’s hand brushed against the stone in his pocket just he shut his eyes and suddenly his mind’s eye was flooded with a vision of something that he instinctively knew was Keith, despite looking like nothing Lance had ever seen in this realm before.  
Keith was coated in red magic, though it looked all wrong. More like blood than the fiery warmth of his magic that Lance had encountered before, it was tinted with something ominous and bound tightly around the shining bubble that was Keith’s life force. It was tight like tensed muscles, cutting into the bubble like ropes and forcing it to be compacted tightly. In places where the red rippled, trying to move, that sickly rusty colour crawled up to the surface and coated it again, stopping the movements quickly and easily.   
A bright light caught Lance’s eye despite his distress. One section of the magical net shone brightly, untouched by the dark magic. And it was blue. When he reached out to mentally touch it, it responded happily to him, though it felt depleted and tired. It was _his_ magic. 

It moved away when Keith’s essence pushed against it, stretching out as best it could to try and relieve some of the pressure of the otherwise tight net. That gave Lance an idea.  
With a confident smile on his lips, he funneled more of his magic into the net. The tiny amount of give where his magic had been grew larger and larger, until it was around the size Lance hoped could fit a person-shaped ball of essence. Keith’s energy moved happily into the bigger, pliant net. Feeling light-headed, he quickly sealed everything off into the new pocket of magic, wincing at how much red magic Keith had lost - he wasn’t exactly sure how the mechanics of magic worked in whatever dimension he was viewing right now, but he was relatively certain it was just magic, and it would recover with time.

Satisfied with his work, he opened his eyes just in time to see a completely humanoid Keith stumbling unsteadily with his hair shockingly greasy and his face caked in blood and dirt - but finally in the right shape.  
“Lance?” he murmured dizzily, right before he pitched forward and collapsed on top of him.

 


	13. The one where Keith makes his own choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things.  
> 1\. I am SO SORRY this wasn't updated for so long. I never meant to leave this story unfinished but every time I came back to it, although I had the actual plot all planned out for ages, I got huge writers block when it came to actually writing it. I was super busy and all sorts happened but I said I would finish this eventually and I did!  
> 2\. Lance has brown eyes in this I don't give a fuck brown eyes are gorgeous  
> 3\. This PROBABLY isn't the last chapter. I'm marking it as complete in case there is a repeat of last time, but I'm hoping to write an epilogue that's probably just fluff and a few loose ends being tied. I tried to bring it to a kind of open ending here so it wouldn't be awful it I abandoned it for a long time again, but expect another chapter.  
> EDIT : sorry I posted this chapter twice and got ur hopes up!! Hopefully the final chapter shouldn't be so long

“Is he going to wake up?”

  


“Something’s wrong with him, Coran!”

  


“Lance, what  _ happened _ ?”

  


“ _ Keith _ …”

  


Keith woke up to unfamiliar voices, instinctively wincing away from the sound and bringing his hands up to shield his face. He tried to shuffle towards Lance’s familiar voice, the only one not sending spikes of panicked energy through his brain.

  


“Shut  _ up _ , you're scaring him!” he heard Lance order. He opened his eyes to see Lance peering worriedly at him and trying to force a gaggle of spectators away from the bed Keith seemed to be lying on. Dazedly, he smiled up at his saviour, grateful for the peace. He felt freer, and warmer, like he was wrapped in a loose but warm blanket.

  


“I'm not  _ afraid _ ,” he replied stubbornly, and then, “My voice!”

  


He opened his mouth, if only to talk gibberish in celebration but it trailed off into a startled squeak when he was suddenly seized and lifted slightly into the air. He was immediately on guard and forming the best battle stance he could in the compromised circumstance before he caught up with his instincts. He was safe, although Lance was swinging him around like a sailor returning to his sweetheart after years at sea.   
  
Noticing him tense, Lance returned him to the ground. The worried-looking apprentice hovered carefully at Keith's shoulder, ready to catch him if he stumbled or blacked out again. 

“How you feelin’?” he murmured. His face was slanted strangely to one side, like he was trying not to smile but his mouth was creeping away from him anyway.

  


“I-” he started, never finishing his sentence before he was crushed against Lance’s chest once more.   
  
“Sorry. I- God, I missed you so much.” Lance’s voice was half unabashed wonderment, as though he’d never in a million years expected to see Keith again, and half reluctant embarrassment that he couldn’t contain himself. When Lance’s grip finally went slack and Keith slowly righted himself, Lance was glowing with joy and a faint blush painted on his cheeks. There was a pause as he studied Keith's face carefully, as though he was memorising it. He gasped suddenly. “Your eyes!”

  


Keith jerked at the sound. “What?” He felt himself already slipping into defensiveness, arms folded across his chest. 

  


Gently peeling his arms back, Lance stroked Keith's cheek. “Your right eye is brown! It must be because I transferred so much energy into you. When I did it before I turned one of your scales blue.” He stopped, blushing. “It suits you.”

  


Keith opened his mouth to say something, although he had no idea what and he was blushing the colour of his dragon self. Luckily, Lance quickly interrupted the heavy silence.

“So I… Shiro- if you-” Lance ducked his head, cringing as his words tripped over each other. He inhaled deeply through his nose and tried again.   
“I guess you want to talk to Shiro,” he managed. “You can use my room, if you need to be alone.”   
  
“Okay,” Keith grinned, despite the nervousness gnawing on his insides. The same apprehension as before was clinging to him and although he knew he should be eager to be properly reunited with his long-lost brother, he didn’t make any moves towards it. Instead he stared down at his hands, his heart suddenly kicking into a furious crescendo. His brain, yet to catch up, floundered in confusion as his heartbeat insisted that he was terrified of some great ordeal.

  


“Want me to get him?” Lance cocked his head to the side when it became apparent Keith wasn’t going to move. 

  


“No!” Keith yelped. “Not yet,” he winced at the puzzled look Lance shot him.

  


“What’s wrong?” 

Lance’s hand slid into his pocket; grasping for the heart-stone. His eyes softened in bewildered sympathy and he manoeuvred the pair of them so they were sitting side by side on his bed, thighs touching gently.

  


“Hey,” he breathed, turning big brown eyes on the faery boy. Heaven and hell, he was beautiful. Keith’s heart sped up so much it seemed to run out of steam and die away in his chest, falling back to flutter shyly against his ribs. Helplessly, he avoided Lance’s gaze and ducked his head to stare stubbornly at his own knees.

  


“I’m scared,” he blurted. “I haven’t seen him in so long, and we’ve both been through so much, and what if he hates what I’ve done, or what I  _ am _ , or-”

  


“He loves you, idiot,” Lance chided, his hand settling comfortingly on Keith’s thigh. “Since I met him he’s just, like… all he talks about is you. When he tells stories from when you were a kid it makes me miss my family so bad just because the look on his face makes me think about my brothers and sisters. If you just saw his face when I told him I knew where you were... I don't know anyone I'd trust with you more, and I-” his mouth snapped shut abruptly and he turned a dark red. There was something in his voice that made Keith shiver involuntarily, the protective way he talked - as though it was his responsibility to protect Keith from anyone who would hurt him. 

  


They were quiet as Keith absorbed Lance's words, slowly lifting his gaze up from the floor to linger on Lance's eyes with a small smile, reassured.

“Are you ready to see him, now?” Lance asked gently. His hand still lingered on Keith's leg, its weight so warm and comforting he panicked briefly at the realisation it would have to be removed. 

  


He nodded, but as soon as Lance made to stand up his hand darted out to snatch Lance's shirt and hold him back. “Wait!”

  


Lance froze, as though he'd been commanded with his true name. “What's wrong?” he asked slowly, shaking off his brief daze. His eyes still seemed to linger distractedly on Keith's face, sliding across every angle from his hairline down to his chin and back again. It made Keith shudder, feeling utterly exposed. 

  


“Thank you,” he muttered defeatedly, chickening out of whatever he'd been about to say under Lance's intense gaze. 

  


Not asking what for, Lance looked inexplicably disappointed as he turned and left his own room. “I'll tell Shiro you're ready to see him.” 

  
  


* * *

  


  


Keith winced when Shiro lifted him up and squeezed him tightly. A lot of his injuries from the Tournament had yet to fade, although Lance had been treating them carefully over the last few days. 

His healing magic was surprisingly clumsy for someone so powerful. His boundless reserves of magical energy, and natural intuition on the magical plane was astounding, enough to break the curse of an ancient faery witch at the age of seventeen.

  


However, when it came to the physical plane, his application was still very novice. What he lacked in magical skill, he made up for with extensive knowledge of all manner of herbs and poultices. If Keith had been impressed with him back on the mountain when he'd only had water and whatever herbs Keith had been able to forage, he was amazed at the way Lance fluttered around the shelves with single-minded intent and had a poultice made in what felt like an instant.

  


Even with his disdain for the shape Keith had been in while Lance had been treating him, Lance was a tender and attentive healer. He seemed to have attended on Keith some more after he'd passed out when they broke the curse, because he'd woken up clean and with the ache in his muscles numb and tingling. There were little patches of thread on his arms and side where Lance had clearly sewn up his deeper wounds. 

  


After his talk with Lance, Keith was already emotionally strung out. He was busily berating himself for his lack of nerve when Shiro ducked through the door. 

“Hi.” His voice was shaky and he had a wobbly smile across his face.

  


“Takashi!” Keith squealed with childish happiness, letting himself be lifted into the air. When Shiro finally put him down, they simply sat there and grinned tearfully at each other for a moment, two people who never thought they'd meet again.

  


“I was so worried about you, you idiot,” Shiro exclaimed, though his voice was fond if frustrated.

  


“I'm sorry,” Keith snuffled. “I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot!”

  


“It's okay, Keith, don't cry. You were just trying to survive.  _ I'm _ sorry I left you, that I didn't stop  _ her  _ from taking you somehow.” Shiro sat down on the bed beside him, and Keith let himself be tugged against his brother's side to sob into his shoulder. 

  


They stayed like that for some time, frantically apologising to each other with each trying to take the blame for what happened. Shiro stroked Keith's hair as he recounted everything Keith had missed since they last met, from his journey to the castle right up to that moment. Keith did the same afterwards, feeling sleepy and safe in his brother's arms. It was a blessed relief to finally get all his feelings about his father off his chest, and he felt ten pounds lighter by the time he finished talking. 

  


“So… Lance,” Shiro mused casually. The comfortable silence between them immediately shattered. 

  


Keith turned to look at him guardedly, saying nothing. 

  


“You seem very fond of him.”

  


“He looked after me when I had no one. He made me remember what it was like be human. He saved me dozens of times over, of course I'm fond of him,” he said carefully. His eyes burned a challenge, though Shiro had already laughingly informed him that his newfound eyes reminded him of the sheepdog they'd had all those years ago. 

  


Shiro said nothing. His thoughtful hum would make anyone else think he'd bought Keith's explanation, but Keith knew his brother better than that and knew this wouldn't be the end of it. 

“Lance was terrified of me when I first met him. I thought he was going to cry,” Shiro started instead. 

  


Confused at where the conversation was headed, Keith frowned. “Don't make fun of him! He's fought monsters you couldn't even comprehend, and it must've been scary for h-” He jerked as Shiro clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

  


“All I'm saying is that he went to a lot of effort for you even though he was afraid.”

  


“I know that!” Keith burst out angrily. “He's so stupidly selfless and he's put himself on the line for me again and again and  _ all _ I've done is put him in danger! I know!”

  


Shiro shook his head. “You can be so blind sometimes, little brother. What I was trying to say is that I think you mean a lot to him to. You weren't there when he returned. Since he got back you were  _ all _ he ever thought and spoke about. It wasn't his responsibility - it seems like any human would be basically helpless against your mother, and this Pidge person was getting you out anyway. But he dedicated all of his time and energy to you anyway.” He stood up, squeezing Keith tightly one last time. “I should get back to my quarters. Just think about that before you start moping again.”

  


* * *

  


  


“Give me back my brother,” was the first thing Pidge said when she marched into Coran and Lance's shared quarters, stomped up to Lance and stabbed her finger into his chest. She was nearly a foot shorter than him but her eyes glowed inhuman green and added levity to her stature. 

Shiro and Allura had returned to their chambers already, and Coran was asleep. Keith had stayed inside Lance's room for a while after Shiro had left but Lance had heard the floorboards creaking as he paced and stayed outside in case he needed space. 

“I didn't take him,” Lance bit back. “He's not your property.”

  


“And he's not  _ yours _ , no matter how he behaves!” Pidge snapped cryptically. 

  


Lance squared up to her, ready to defend Keith's freedom physically and magically if he had to. They both jumped, standoff broken, when Lance's bedroom door  _ flew _ open and Keith came dashing out. His energy was buzzing more frantically than Lance had ever seen, but his face was determined and excited.

“Lance! I'm sorry I'm an idiot, I-” he stopped short, almost barrelling into Lance when he spotted their company. Lance didn't miss the way he went rigid and his eyes narrowed. “Pidge.”

  


“Red,” she answered just as coolly. “I see the curse wore off. Are you ready to stop being childish now?”

  


“For your information, Lance broke the curse,” Lance felt a swell of pride, especially when Keith crowded behind Lance as though he trusted Lance to protect him, “And I  _ am _ ready to stop being childish, actually, which is why I need a moment alone with Lance.”

  


Struggling with what that could even mean, Lance tried to hide his confusion and appear as stony-faced and threatening as possible. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, but he wasn't going to undermine his calm by asking. 

  


“Keith, that is  _ enough _ of your stupid obsession with the human. It was cute at first but you're too important to be wasting your time like this and you're coming back right now,” she ordered. 

  


Under the pull of his true name, Keith swayed lightly and stepped towards her. Lance reached out to grab onto her sleeve when someone else emerged behind her. 

“Katie!” called another voice, sounding almost exactly like Pidge but a little deeper. They stepped into the room and Lance saw another, taller version of Pidge with straighter hair, looking horrified. “Do you want to be just as bad as the person you worked so hard to defeat? Keith, we're so sorry! Pidge was just frustrated. But you really need to come back.”

  


Keith shook his head like a wet dog and blinked in confusion before scuttling back over to Lance and pressing himself into his side. In return Lance's arm instinctively settled around his shoulders. Keith's eyes were burning as he glared at his sister. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he insisted. “I don't want to rule that awful place and you clearly do, so I really don't see what the problem is.”

  


“Keith…” Pidge sighed, shoulders falling. “The thing is, Matt and I aren't Unseelie at all. We're half human… I was just posing as her daughter to infiltrate her court, so that someone who wasn't blood-bound could be in a position of power when the time came. You're the only link between the two courts, Keith.”

  


Lance and Keith's mouths both fell open in shock. But as Lance watched, Keith's mouth set determinedly. Although one of his beautiful eyes was now a deep, chocolate brown, both were still filled with the proud fire Lance knew and loved. He couldn't help grinning as he watched Keith's expression change and prepared for what was coming next. 

“Pidge. Who managed to trick the Unseelie Queen into thinking she was a loyal daughter and not a traitorous stranger? Who managed to rally almost all the Unseelie fae under a common cause without bribery or coercion magic, and take out the rest with faultless strategising? Who managed to  _ unite the two courts for the first time in centuries?” _

  


Keith set his shoulders confidently, watching Pidge’s furious mask crack. “That was you, while I only ever followed her orders, languished in a jail, and blacked out for most of the fight.  _ You _ are the link between the Seelie and Unseelie, not me.” He turned to look at Lance and added pointedly, “Who cares about blood?”

  


Matt broke the tense silence with a laugh. “You know, he's right.” He looked at Keith with a smile. “I mean, no offense, but he'd be a terrible ruler. And what kind of example is it if we continue to allow fae to be defined by their blood over their real qualities? Plus, if we force him into this… We might be forcing him into slightly nicer chambers but,” Matt glanced pointedly between Keith and Lance, “I have a feeling he wouldn't be any happier than he was under the Queen.”

  


Everyone watched carefully as Pidge’s glare wavered, Lance slipping his hand into Keith's and squeezing. For someone so used to having all his control snatched away from him, and faced with harsh punishments if he ever attempted to stand up for himself, Keith was being so brave that Lance's heard swelled with pride on his behalf. 

  


Finally, Pidge’s tense stance relaxed, and she smiled weakly. In that moment Lance saw her for what she was - a child with the pressure of two kingdoms on her shoulders. In overthrowing the Unseelie Queen she had freed countless faeries from a lifetime of suffering, and was establishing a new kingdom that ensured that not only would these fae be liberated but a new system was instituted that would prevent the suffering of generations before they were ever born. 

  


“C’mon, Katie. I think they have some talking to do. And you have a kingdom to rule.” He turned to Lance and Keith. “We'll be in touch.” 

  


As soon as they gone, Lance rounded on Keith. “What was all that about?”

They were finally alone and with all the adrenaline of breaking Keith's curse and confronting Pidge finally fading away Lance felt overwhelmingly awkward. He'd felt sure something was going to happen between them earlier, and as he'd left the room his heart had sunk. Now apparently Keith wanted to talk to him? There was a tiny part of him that fluttered excitedly but it was quickly overwhelmed by a dark anxiety. 

  


Lance listened attentively as Keith explained everything that had happened since they'd parted, recounted how he'd learned to control his shape-shifting only to be hit with a much stronger curse. Lance felt his heart speed up when Keith explained how desperate he'd felt to see Lance again, like there was just some nagging feeling inside him that  _ this wasn't the end.  _

He felt a pang of sympathy when Keith mentioned how lost and helpless he'd felt when he was taken to meet his father, and shook his head exasperatedly when Keith described his journey and how he'd exhausted himself so badly that he passed out on a verge just outside the stables. 

  


“I'm just… I'm not ready to meet him.” Keith sighed, trying to smile despite the fact that he was trembling slightly. Lance stroked his back comfortingly. “I got this thing into my head, where my whole identity rested on how it went. If he didn't like me - or if he wasn't  _ good _ , if his blood isn't good enough to redeem me from my bad side.”

  


“Keith, that's not true! Didn't you just give Pidge a huge speech about how you're not defined by your blood? You are  _ nothing _ like her, you're the most selfless person I've ever met.”

  


“I know I shouldn't define myself by him, kind of. It's just that… I couldn't handle it yet. I've been living in a cave for a year, you're practically the only person I've spoken to. I don't know who I am right now. If I met him and anything went wrong, I'd have nothing to cling to.” Keith sighed, going a little red at his own honesty. “I  _ do _ want to meet him. I just want to do it when that's not the only thing I have in my whole l- what?”

  


Lance shook his head, pulling Keith against his chest and resisting the urge to kiss his forehead. “Nothing, just. I'm so proud of you. That's the most sensible thing I've heard since this whole mess started.”

Lance felt the stone in his pocket turn warm against his leg. 

  


“But that's not really what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  
  


* * *

  


  


“So, we have to talk, huh?” Lance mumbled.

  


“Yeah, there's a couple of things I have to say to you,” Keith hummed. He tried to stay calm, reminding himself that had Lance kissed him first. That had to mean something. Focusing on the warm feeling he'd felt when Lance had said he was  _ proud of him _ , he stood up on his tiptoes and quickly pressed their lips together. 

  


He dropped back onto his feet and opened his eyes, looking up expectantly at Lance with a nervous smile. “So?” His smile started to fall as Lance did nothing but continue to stare, frozen. “Ohgodohgod, I mis- _ mph _ !” 

  


Keith squeaked as Lance scooped him up, wrapping his legs around Lance's waist. Lance's had one arm under his legs and another around his waist, holding him secure as their lips collided. It was nothing like Keith's delicate peck, or Lance's hurried goodbye kiss. It was deep and fast, Lance attacking his mouth with a frenetic urgency. 

  


Lance staggered over to the table, kissing Keith intermittently before setting him down. He enjoyed sitting on the raised surface, swinging his legs coyly as Lance crowded between his thighs to cup his face and continue kissing him. Keith let his mouth fall open, smiling into the kiss as Lance let their tongues fall together, their noses bumping. 

  


“I think I love you,” Lance panted as he pulled away. “I'm sorry I didn't realise earlier.”

  


“I  _ know _ I love you,” Keith raised him, lilac and brown eyes both scrunched up with a breathless joy. “And I'm so glad I get to do this instead of sitting at some boring Seelie banquet.”

  


Lance snorted. “And I'm glad I had to take a pee in an evil queen's forest.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any errors, I haven't really checked over this much at all but I was just v keen to publish it. Let me know anything you want to see/know/clear up in the epilogue. Thank u for reading!


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